


Hellblazer and the Chamber of Secrets - Adopted

by LeonDesdichard



Series: Hellblazer Series [2]
Category: Charmed (TV 1998), Constantine (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adopted Series, F/M, Soron66
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 93,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22551064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeonDesdichard/pseuds/LeonDesdichard
Summary: John goes more into his exorcist job while helping Harry with this story's mystery. This story introduces the Halliwell sisters from the original charmed show. They'll be more like OCs because I don't want to risk ruining their personalities, and this is about before they were adults.Yet again this story is a repost because Soron66 has allowed me to continue the series from where they left off and has given me permission to repost the stories on my profile to make it easier for readers than having to go back and forth between profiles.Thank you again Soron66
Series: Hellblazer Series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622512
Kudos: 11





	1. The Burrow

Chapter 1: The Burrow

John Constantine had just turned 12 the day before which was celebrated by the Weasleys which is where he decided to stay for a while. It was actually quite a fun party. Instead of pin the tail they had “catch the gnome” and the pinata they had was filled with chocolate frogs that they also had to catch. Almost everyone John knew from school was there. Ritchie, Chas, Anne, Hermione, and of course the Weasleys were there. The only one that wasn’t present was Harry, but John had already guessed that the Dursleys were refusing to let Harry come over. Right now, John was sitting in a lawn chair as he absentmindedly drew in the air with his wand without realizing it. He was wearing a white long sleeve button down shirt with the top two buttons undone. He had a red tie that was tied loosely around his neck, he wore black dress pants, and black dress shoes. He also had a tan raincoat on. He had grown quite a few inches, so he had to go shopping the day before his birthday.

“What is that?” asked a young female Weasley known as Ginny.

“Hmm,” John said as he looked at her, “What?”

“That thing you drew,” Ginny said gesturing the the magical drawing, “What is it?”

John looked at it and cocked his head to one side. For some reason he drew a shape that looked like a diary or journal in the air. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out as to the reason why.

“Doesn’t matter,” John shrugged as he waved his wand through the drawing erasing it.

“Okay then,” Ginny said, “Well, Mum says it’s time for lunch.”

“Tell her I’m on my way,” John said as he stood up. As Ginny headed back inside, he reached for his lucky lighter as he had many times during the summer, but like then he found the place he’d normally store it to be empty. That lighter had become a habit of his, and he honestly missed that habit. However, keeping Harry safe from Voldemort was more important than his habit. John sighed and then walked to the Weasley’s house that looked like it could topple any second. He almost knocked, but then remembered he lived there so it was a bit pointless to do so. Instead, he just opened the door and walked inside.

“Lunch is on the table John,” Molly Weasley said as she pointed her wand at a shattered glass cup, “Reparo.”

John watched as the cup returned to its usual self before he continued his way to the table. Already sitting at the table was Ron, Ginny, Fred, George, and Percy. Arthur was at work currently and won’t be expected home till the afternoon. The table had steak, mashed potatoes, broccoli, carrots, and some biscuits in the middle.

“Why do you wear that coat of yours everywhere you go?” Percy asked disapprovingly as John sat down.

“Cause I can,” John shrugged, “Besides we wear cloaks everywhere we go while at school, and those are basically coats as well.”

“Hmpf,” Percy grunted as he cut into his steak.

“Lose the hood and you’d look good,” Fred said as he scooped into his mashed potatoes.

“What if it rains?” John asked as he picked up his glass of water, “I’m not exactly looking to catch pneumonia, mate.”

“Fair enough,” George said as he bit into his biscuit.

Ron just ate in silence as all the good questions and statements had already been said. They all kept the silence as they ate till Erroll crashed into the window. John could help snorting each time he saw that happen.

“Bird’s a bloody menace,” Ron complained as Molly went to see if Erroll was alright, “Honestly. It destroys more things than not. I hope it kills itself one of these days.”

“Hilarious though,” John said, “I’ve had more laughs seeing that bird fly into things than I had before coming here to stay with you lot.”

“There’s a letter for you here, John,” Molly said as she walked over, “I don’t recognize the address, though.”

John accepted the letter and looked at it before pocketing it.

“Not going to open it?” Fred asked disappointed.

“No,” John said.

“Why not?” George asked also disappointed.

“It’s probably just a request for my services,” John shrugged, “Never really anything interesting on these letters.”

“I’d love to watch you do an exorcism,” Fred said with George nodding his agreement.

“Exorcisms aren’t for the faint of heart,” John said with a serious expression, “Besides, you two would probably botch it up somehow by just being there.”

Fred and George looked offended at that, but Percy actually smiled out of amusement. The meal continued in silence, and when everything was done the dishes floated over to the sink and began cleaning themselves. John on the other hand went up to his room to open the letter. When he opened it he read:

_Dear, Mr. John Constantine_

_I have a request of the utmost importance. I believe my daughter is possessed by the devil himself. I took her to St. Mundo’s, but they said it wasn’t a medical problem and that they had no idea what was going on. That is when I was approached by the Hogwarts Headmaster who was there visiting two patients. He told me that I should contact you, and even though you were still a kid you knew what you were doing. I implore you, please come to my aid at your earliest convenience. I will reward you handsomely. I am currently staying in the French embassy at the moment._

_Sincerely, Monsieur Delacour_

John sat down on his bed and put the letter down as he debated on if he should go help the man at all, but he had no idea if he could be able to get into the Embassy. He didn’t even notice that Ron had come into the room and sat down on the bed next to him. He only realized Ron was there when Ron spoke up.

“So,” Ron said, “You have been hired for a job by a French guy?”

“Aye,” John said, “Problem is, I’m not French so I can’t get into the Embassy.”

“Dad might be able to help you with that,” Ron said.

“Aye,” John agreed, “Problem is, my earliest convenience won’t be until Christmas and he said it was of the utmost importance.”

“Oh,” Ron said, “Well… I don’t have any other ideas. Sorry.”

“Not your fault, mate,” John said.

“Come on,” Ron said, “Let’s go play a little bit of Quidditch with Fred and George. They’re already going out there.”

“Why not,” John said as he stood up, “I don’t exactly have anything else I need to do at the moment.”

**Later, at night…**

John, Ron, George, and Fred were in Arthur’s flying car on their way to Harry’s house. Arthur had informed them that Harry had gotten a letter for using magic in front of muggles. They spent a few minutes flying in the air till Ron looked to the side and saw something odd.

“That house has bars on one of the windows,” Ron said. John looked out Ron’s window and narrowed his eyes.

“That’s Potter’s house,” John said, “Go down there.”

“Are you sure?” the twins asked in unison.

“Yes,” John said.

When they got down there, they saw Harry sleeping in his bed and Hedwig with her head tucked under her wing as she slept. They then spent a few minutes trying to wake Harry up unsuccessfully.

**Harry’s POV…**

He slowly opened his eyes, and saw that moonlight was shining through the bars on the window. And someone was ogling through the bars at him: a freckle-faced, red-haired, long-nosed someone. Ron Weasley was outside Harry’s window.

“Ron!” breathed Harry creeping to the window and pushing it up so they could talk through the bars, “Ron, how did you… what the…”

Harry’s mouth fell open as the full impact of what he was seeing hit him. Ron was leaning out of the back window of an old turquoise car, which was parked in midair. Grinning at Harry from the front seats were Fred and George, Ron’s elder twin brothers.

“Alright, Harry?” asked George.

“What’s been going on?” said Ron, “Why haven’t you been answering my letters? I’ve asked you to stay about twelve times, and then Dad came home and said you’d got an official warning for using magic in front of Muggles…”

“It wasn’t me… and how did he know?”

“He works for the Ministry,” said Ron, “You know we’re not supposed to do spells outside school…”

“You should talk,” said Harry, staring at the floating car.

“Oh, this doesn’t count,” said Ron, “We’re only borrowing this. It’s Dad’s, we didn’t enchant it. But doing magic in front of those Muggles you live with…”

“I told you, I didn’t… but it’ll take too long to explain now… look, can you tell them at Hogwarts that the Dursleys have locked me up and won’t let me come back, and obviously I can’t magic myself out, because the Ministry’ll think that’s the second spell I’ve done in three days, so…”

“Stop gibbering, mate,” said John over Ron’s shoulder, “We’ve come to take you home with us.”

“But you can’t magic me out either…”

“Who needs magic?” John asked as he handed Ron a bottle, “Just splash this on the bars. It’ll turn them to dust.”

“Here,” said Ron, throwing Harry the bottle, “Don’t take too long though.”

“If the Dursleys wake up, I’m dead,” said Harry as he opened the bottle and prepared to pour it on the bars.

“Don’t worry,” said John, “the effects shouldn’t be too loud. You might want to stand back though, mate. It’ll cause one hell of a rust cloud.”

Harry moved back into the shadows next to Hedwig, who seemed to have realized how important this was and kept still and silent. The car purred as it floated by the window idle and suddenly, with a crunching noise, the bars exploded into dust. Harry ran back to the window to see the dust floating down to the ground below. Panting, Ron hoisted them up into the car. Harry listened anxiously, but there was no sound from the Dursleys’ bedroom. The car then floated closer to the window.

“Get in,” Ron said.

“But all my Hogwarts stuff… my wand… my broomstick…”

“Where is it?” John asked.

“Locked in the cupboard under the stairs, and I can’t get out of this room…”

“No problem, mate,” John said as he climbed out of the car like a cat and into Harry’s room.

“Don’t make a sound,” Harry warned.

John just pulled out an amulet and hung it on his neck, and then he walked straight towards the door without making a sound. He didn’t bother to open it as he walked straight into the door, but to all their shock he just walked literally through it like a ghost.

“That’s new,” Harry remarked.

“Yep,” the twins agreed, “Cool though. Useful too.”

Harry dashed around his room, collecting his things and passing them out of the window to Ron. Then he went to help John heave his trunk up the stairs. Harry heard Uncle Vernon cough.

At last, panting, they reached the landing, then carried the trunk through Harry’s room to the open window. Fred reached from the car to pull with Ron, and Harry and John pushed from the bedroom side. Inch by inch, the trunk slid through the window. Uncle Vernon coughed again.

“A bit more,” panted Fred, who was pulling from inside the car, “One good push…”

Harry and John threw their shoulders against the trunk and it slid out of the window into the back seat of the car.

“Okay, let’s go,” John whispered.

But as Harry climbed onto the windowsill there came a sudden loud screech from behind him, followed immediately by the thunder of Uncle Vernon’s voice.

“THAT RUDDY OWL!”

“I’ve forgotten Hedwig!” Harry exclaimed.

Harry tore back across the room as the landing light clicked on… he snatched up Hedwig’s cage, dashed to the window, and passed it out to Ron. He was scrambling back onto the chest of drawers when Uncle Vernon hammered on the locked door… and it crashed open.

For a split second, Uncle Vernon stood framed in the doorway; then he let out a bellow like an angry bull and dived at Harry, grabbing him by the ankle.

Ron, Fred, and George seized Harry’s arms and pulled as hard as they could. John on the other hand pulled out a vial of dust, and threw it into the house. Suddenly, as soon as the vial smashed on the floor the dust formed into a big creature which stared down at Vernon. That made Vernon so afraid he released a bloodcurdling scream. It also allowed Harry to wrench his leg free and climb into the car as the dust creature drifted away into the wind.

“Put your foot down, Fred!” yelled Ron, and the car shot suddenly toward the moon.

Harry couldn’t believe it… he was free. He rolled down the window, the night air whipping his hair, and looked back at the shrinking rooftops of Privet Drive. Uncle Vernon was trying to come up with a logical reason as to why he saw a giant creature and what happened to it. Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were hanging, dumbstruck, out of Harry’s window.

“See you next summer!” Harry yelled.

The Weasleys roared with laughter and Harry settled back in his seat, grinning from ear to ear. John looked at Harry with a serious expression.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Do you still have my lucky lighter?” John asked.

“Uhhh…” Harry said nervously, “Uncle Vernon… kinda… confiscated it.”

“Fred,” John said with an angry expression, “turn the car around.”

“Why?” Fred asked.

“I’m going to retrieve something that was stolen,” John said between gritted teeth.

“Can’t,” Fred said, “the cloak is about to run out of juice and we’re halfway home.

John snarled and crossed his arms in anger as he looked out the window.

“Let Hedwig out,” Harry told Ron. “She can fly behind us. She hasn’t had a chance to stretch her wings for ages.”

George handed a hairpin to Ron and, a moment later, Hedwig soared joyfully out of the window to glide alongside them like a ghost.

“So… what’s the story, Harry?” asked Ron impatiently, “What’s been happening?”

Harry told them all about Dobby, the warning he’d given Harry and the fiasco of the violet pudding. There was a long, shocked silence when he had finished.

“Very fishy,” said Fred finally.

“Definitely dodgy,” agreed George, “So he wouldn’t even tell you who’s supposed to be plotting all this stuff?”

“Wait,” John said as his brain caught up to what they were saying, “Did you say Dobby?”

“Yes,” Harry said, “Why?”

“No reason,” John said quietly.

“Okay?” Harry said turning back to George, “I don’t think he could. I told you, every time he got close to letting something slip, he started banging his head against the wall.”

He saw Fred and George look at each other.

“What, you think he was lying to me?” asked Harry.

“Well,” said Fred, “put it this way… house-elves have got powerful magic of their own, but they can’t usually use it without their master’s permission. I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you coming back to Hogwarts. Someone’s idea of a joke. Can you think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?”

“Yes,” said Harry, Ron, and John together, instantly.

“Draco Malfoy,” Harry explained, “He hates me.”

“Draco Malfoy?” said George, turning around, “Not Lucius Malfoy’s son?”

“The very same,” John said.

“I’ve heard Dad talking about him,” said George, “He was a big supporter of You-Know-Who.”

“And when You-Know-Who disappeared,” said Fred, craning around to look at Harry, “Lucius Malfoy came back saying he’d never meant any of it. Load of dung, Dad reckons he was right in You-Know-Who’s inner circle.”

Harry had heard these rumors about Malfoy’s family before, and they didn’t surprise him at all. Malfoy made Dudley Dursley look like a kind, thoughtful, and sensitive boy.

“I don’t know whether the Malfoys own a house-elf…” said Harry.

“They do,” John said, “You’ve met him.”

“Dobby?” Harry asked.

“Aye,” John said, “Poor guy gets treated like shit. Just another reason to hate the bloody Malfoys.”

“Mum’s always wishing we had a house-elf to do the ironing,” said George “But all we’ve got is a lousy old ghoul in the attic and gnomes all over the garden. House-elves come with big old manors and castles and places like that; you wouldn’t catch one in our house…”

Harry was silent. Judging by the fact that Draco Malfoy usually had the best of everything, his family was rolling in wizard gold; he could just see Malfoy strutting around a large manor house. Sending the family servant to stop Harry from going back to Hogwarts also sounded exactly like the sort of thing Malfoy would do. Had Harry been stupid to take Dobby seriously?

“I’m glad we came to get you, anyway,” said Ron, “I was getting really worried when you didn’t answer any of my letters. I thought it was Errol’s fault at first…”

“Who’s Errol?”

“Our owl. He’s ancient. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d collapsed on a delivery. So then I tried to borrow Hermes…”

“Who?”

“The owl Mum and Dad bought Percy when he was made prefect,” said Fred from the front.

“Percy wouldn’t lend him to me,” said Ron, “Said he needed him.”

“Percy’s been acting very oddly this summer,” said George, frowning, “And he has been sending a lot of letters and spending a load of time shut up in his room… I mean, there’s only so many times you can polish a prefect badge…”

“You’re driving too far west, Fred,” he added pointing at a compass on the dashboard. Fred twiddled the steering wheel.

“So, does your dad know you’ve got the car?” said Harry, guessing the answer.

“Er, no,” said Ron, “he had to work tonight. Hopefully we’ll be able to get it back in the garage without Mum noticing we flew it.”

“What does your dad do at the Ministry of Magic, anyway?”

“He works in the most boring department,” said Ron, “The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.”

“The what?”

“It’s all to do with bewitching things that are Muggle-made, you know, in case they end up back in a Muggle shop or house. Like, last year, some old witch died and her tea set was sold to an antiques shop. This Muggle woman bought it, took it home, and tried to serve her friends tea in it. It was a nightmare… Dad was working overtime for weeks.”

“What happened?”

“The teapot went berserk and squirted boiling tea all over the place and one man ended up in the hospital with the sugar tongs clamped to his nose. Dad was going frantic… it’s only him and an old warlock called Perkins in the office… and they had to do Memory Charms and all sorts of stuff to cover it up…”

John had to hold in laughter as Ron explained his dad’s job. He always found that story as hilarious.

“But your dad… this car…”

Fred laughed, “Yeah, Dad’s crazy about everything to do with Muggles; our shed’s full of Muggle stuff. He takes it apart, puts spells on it, and puts it back together again. If he raided our house he’d have to put himself under arrest. It drives Mum mad.”

“That’s the main road,” said George, peering down through the windshield, “We’ll be there in ten minutes… Just as well, it’s getting light…”

A faint pinkish glow was visible along the horizon to the east. Fred brought the car lower, and Harry saw a dark patchwork of fields and clumps of trees.

“We’re a little way outside the village,” said George, “Ottery St. Catchpole.”

Lower and lower went the flying car. The edge of a brilliant red sun was now gleaming through the trees.

“Touchdown!” said Fred as, with a slight bump, they hit the ground. They had landed next to a tumbledown garage in a small yard, and Harry looked out for the first time at Ron’s house.

It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it were held up by magic (which, Harry reminded himself, it probably was). Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, **The Burrow**. Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard.

“It’s not much,” said Ron.

“It’s wonderful,” said Harry happily, thinking of Privet Drive.

They got out of the car. John waved right before flickering away. John had clearly perfected his astral projection magic power. So well, that it was like he was actually there. His astral form was no longer intangible without aid.

“Cheater,” George whispered enviously and annoyed.

“Now, we’ll go upstairs really quietly,” said Fred, “and wait for Mum to call us for breakfast. Then, Ron, you come bounding downstairs going, ‘Mum, look who turned up in the night!’ and she’ll be all pleased to see Harry and no one need ever know we flew the car.”

“Right,” said Ron, “Come on, Harry, I sleep at the… at the top…”

Ron had gone a nasty greenish color, his eyes fixed on the house. The other three wheeled around.

Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard, scattering chickens, and for a short, plump, kind-faced woman, it was remarkable how much she looked like a saber-toothed tiger.

“Ah,” said Fred.

“Oh, dear,” said George.

Mrs. Weasley came to a halt in front of them, her hands on her hips, staring from one guilty face to the next. She was wearing a flowered apron with a wand sticking out of the pocket.

“So,” she said.

“ ’Morning, Mum,” said George, in what he clearly thought was a jaunty, winning voice.

“Have you any idea how worried I’ve been?” said Mrs. Weasley in a deadly whisper.

“Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to…”

All three of Mrs. Weasley’s sons were taller than she was, but they cowered as her rage broke over them.

“Beds empty! No note! Car gone… could have crashed… out of my mind with worry… did you care?” Molly yelled, "Never, as long as I’ve lived… you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy…”

“Perfect Percy,” muttered Fred.

“YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY’S BOOK!” yelled Mrs. Weasley, prodding a finger in Fred’s chest, “You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job…”

It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse before she turned on Harry, who backed away.

“I’m very pleased to see you, Harry, dear,” she said with a smile, “Come in and have some breakfast.”

She turned and walked back into the house and Harry, after a nervous glance at Ron, who nodded encouragingly, followed her.

The kitchen was small and rather cramped. There was a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle, and Harry sat down on the edge of his seat, looking around. He had never been in a wizard house before.

The clock on the wall opposite him had only one hand and no numbers at all. Written around the edge were things like _Time to make tea_ , _Time to feed the chickens_ , and _You’re late_. Books were stacked three deep on the mantelpiece, books with titles like _C_ _harm Your Own Cheese, Enchantment in Baking, and One Minute Feasts… It’s Magic!_ And unless Harry’s ears were deceiving him, the old radio next to the sink had just announced that coming up was “Witching Hour, with the popular singing sorceress, Celestina Warbeck.”

Mrs. Weasley was clattering around, cooking breakfast a little haphazardly, throwing dirty looks at her sons as she threw sausages into the frying pan. Every now and then she muttered things like “don’t know what you were thinking of,” and “never would have believed it.”

“I don’t blame you, dear,” she assured Harry, tipping eight or nine sausages onto his plate, “Arthur and I have been worried about you, too. Just last night we were saying we’d come and get you ourselves if you hadn’t written back to Ron by Friday.”

“But really flying an illegal car halfway across the country…” Molly continued as she added three fried eggs to his plate, “anyone could have seen you…”

She flicked her wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which began to clean themselves, clinking gently in the background.

“It was cloudy, Mum!” said Fred.

“You keep your mouth closed while you’re eating!” Mrs. Weasley snapped.

“They were starving him, Mum!” said George.

“And you!” said Mrs. Weasley, but it was with a slightly softened expression that she started cutting Harry bread and buttering it for him.

At that moment there was a diversion in the form of a small, red-headed figure in a long nightdress, who appeared in the kitchen, gave a small squeal, and ran out again.

“Oi!” exclaimed a Liverpudlian voice on the stairs as some quick footsteps hurried up the stairs, “Watch where you’re going luv!”

Harry looked up and saw John Constantine walk into the kitchen in just his american boxers.

“John!” Molly exclaimed, “Clothes!”

“What?” John asked before he looked down and saw his appearance, “Oh.”

He then snapped his fingers and clothes materialized onto him gaining jealous looks from all the Weasleys while Harry just stared open-mouthed.

“What?” John asked again this time at Harry as he walked to the table.

“That’s new,” Harry said for the second time that morning.

“I’ll teach it to ya later,” John shrugged as he sat down, “It’s a harmless spell that requires no words, circles, or otherwise. Once you learn it, you can do it anytime anywhere. Ideal for if you have to change clothes on the fly.”

“Why won’t you teach it to us?!” demanded the twins in unison.

“You two would be impossible to catch after you do one of your pranks,” John as he picked up a sausage replied, “also, Harry needs as much magical abilities and know-how as he can if he’s to survive and/or defeat you-know-who.”

“Who was the redhead in the nightdress?” Harry asked changing the subject.

“Ginny,” said Ron in an undertone to Harry, “My sister. She’s been talking about you all summer.”

“Quite irksome to be honest,” John grunted as he brought an some of the fried egg to his mouth.

“She’ll be wanting your autograph, Harry,” Fred put in with a grin, but he caught his mother’s eye and bent his face over his plate without another word. Nothing more was said until all four plates were clean, which took a surprisingly short time.

“Blimey, I’m tired,” yawned Fred, setting down his knife and fork at last, “I think I’ll go to bed and…”

“You will not,” snapped Mrs. Weasley, “It’s your own fault you’ve been up all night. You’re going to degnome the garden for me; they’re getting completely out of hand again…”

“Oh, Mum…”

“And you two,” she said, glaring at Ron and Fred.

“You can go up to bed, dear,” she added to Harry, “You didn’t ask them to fly that wretched car…”

But Harry, who felt wide awake, said quickly, “I’ll help Ron. I’ve never seen a degnoming…”

“That’s very sweet of you, dear, but it’s dull work,” said Mrs. Weasley, “Now, let’s see what Lockhart’s got to say on the subject…”

“Oh no you don’t!” John said as he whipped out his wand and set the book ablaze.

“John!” Molly shouted, “You had no right to incinerate my book! Especially, since it was written by one of the best wizards of all time!”

“Obliviate!” John said pointing his wand at Molly making her forget all about the book and what he just did.

“Not again,” groaned Ron, “You’re going to give her Alzheimer's before she gets to the proper age for such a disease.”

“Every time she brings up that fraud’s name and his books I feel physically ill,” John said defensively, “I did the only thing I could think of to stop her.”

“Try to find another way,” Ron groaned again.

“Let’s go deal with those gnomes before she comes to,” John said as he stood up from his chair.

Yawning and grumbling, the Weasleys slouched outside with John ahead of them and Harry behind them. The garden was large, and in Harry’s eyes, exactly what a garden should be. The Dursleys wouldn’t have liked it… there were plenty of weeds, and the grass needed cutting, but there were gnarled trees all around the walls, plants Harry had never seen spilling from every flower bed, and a big green pond full of frogs.

“Muggles have garden gnomes, too, you know,” Harry told Ron as they crossed the lawn.

“Those are nothing like what you’re about to see,” John said as he pulled out a bag of something. He then opened it and tossed what was in it into the air. Suddenly, the contents went zipping about the garden and cries of shock, surprise, and yelps of pain could be heard. The next second later, the gnomes floated into the air unable to move as they just hovered. The gnomes were certainly nothing like Santa Claus. They were small and leathery looking, with a large, knobby, bald head exactly like a potato.

“Now comes the hard part,” Ron said as he grabbed one and held it at arm’s length as it kicked out at him with its horny little feet; he grasped it around the ankles and turned it upside down.

“Gerroff me!” the gnome demanded

“This is what you have to do,” he said. He raised the gnome above his head and started to swing it in great circles like a lasso. Seeing the shocked look on Harry’s face, Ron added, “It doesn’t hurt them… you’ve just gotta make them really dizzy so they can’t find their way back to the gnomeholes.”

“My part in this is done,” John said as he tucked the bag away, “Before you all start griping and holding a grudge, I already did half the job. Otherwise, it’d take a few hours trying to catch them and get rid of them. See you all later.”

At that, John walked back to the house and inside.

Ron let go of the gnome’s ankles: It flew twenty feet into the air and landed with a thud in the field over the hedge.

“Pitiful,” said Fred, “I bet I can get mine beyond that stump.”

Harry learned quickly not to feel too sorry for the gnomes. He decided just to drop the first one he caught over the hedge, but the gnome, sensing weakness, sank its razor-sharp teeth into Harry’s finger and he had a hard job shaking it off… until…

“Wow, Harry… that must’ve been fifty feet…”

The air was soon thick with flying gnomes.

“See, they’re not too bright,” said George, seizing five or six gnomes at once, “The moment they know the degnoming’s going on they storm up to have a look. You’d think they’d have learned by now just to stay put.”

"Also," Fred added while Goerge threw his gnomes, "John's bag of whatever it is was designed to make degnoming easier. He invented it himself, and all because he accidentally got bit an inch too close to his crotch. One of the gnomes snuck up on him. Probably because he was new and fairly short combined with the expression of shock and disgust that was on his face when he saw them the first time."

Soon, the crowd of gnomes in the field started walking away in a straggling line, their little shoulders hunched.

“They’ll be back,” said Ron as they watched the gnomes disappear into the hedge on the other side of the field, “They love it here… Dad’s too soft with them; he thinks they’re funny…”

Just then, the front door slammed.

“He’s back!” said George. “Dad’s home!”

They hurried through the garden and back into the house.

Mr. Weasley was slumped in a kitchen chair with his glasses off and his eyes closed. He was a thin man, going bald, but the little hair he had was as red as any of his children’s. He was wearing long green robes, which were dusty and travel-worn.

“What a night,” he mumbled, groping for the teapot as they all sat down around him, “Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when I had my back turned…”

Mr. Weasley took a long gulp of tea and sighed.

“Find anything, Dad?” asked Fred eagerly.

“All I got were a few shrinking door keys and a biting kettle,” yawned Mr. Weasley, “There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn’t my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about some extremely odd ferrets, but that’s the Committee on Experimental Charms, thank goodness…”

“Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?” asked George confused.

“Just Muggle-baiting,” sighed Mr. Weasley, “Sell them a key that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it… Of course, it’s very hard to convict anyone because no Muggle would admit their key keeps shrinking… they’ll insist they just keep losing it. Bless them, they’ll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if it’s staring them in the face… But the things our lot have taken to enchanting, you wouldn’t believe…”

“LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?!”

Mrs. Weasley had appeared, holding a long poker like a sword. Mr. Weasley’s eyes jerked open. He stared guiltily at his wife.

“C-cars, Molly, dear?”

“Yes, Arthur, cars,” said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes flashing, “Imagine a wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his wife all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see how it worked, while really he was enchanting it to make it fly.”

Mr. Weasley blinked.

“Well, dear,” Arthur said nervously, “I think you’ll find that he would be quite within the law to do that, even if… er… he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his wife the truth… There’s a loophole in the law, you’ll find… As long as he wasn’t intending to fly the car, the fact that the car could fly wouldn’t…”

“Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you wrote that law!” shouted Mrs. Weasley, “Just so you could carry on tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in your shed! And for your information, Harry arrived this morning in the car you weren’t intending to fly!”

“Harry?” said Mr. Weasley blankly. “Harry who?”

He looked around, saw Harry, and jumped.

“Good lord, is it Harry Potter?” Arthur said forgetting about Molly for a bit, “Very pleased to meet you, Ron’s told us so much about…”

 _“Your sons flew that car to Harry’s house and back last night!”_ shouted Mrs. Weasley, “What have you got to say about that, eh?”

“Did you really?” asked Mr. Weasley eagerly, “Did it go all right?”

I… I mean,” he nervously corrected himself as sparks flew from Mrs. Weasley’s eyes, “that… that was very wrong, boys… very wrong indeed…”

“Let’s leave them to it,” Ron muttered to Harry as Mrs. Weasley swelled like a bullfrog, “Come on, I’ll show you my bedroom.”

They slipped out of the kitchen and down a narrow passageway to an uneven staircase, which wound its way, zigzagging up through the house. On the third landing, a door stood ajar. Harry just caught sight of a pair of bright brown eyes staring at him before it closed with a snap.

“Ginny,” said Ron, “You don’t know how weird it is for her to be this shy. She never shuts up normally…”

They climbed two more flights until they reached a door with peeling paint and a small plaque on it, saying RONALD’S ROOM.


	2. Evil Uncle Lucius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John interacts with the Malfoys, Harry stuck in a cupboard, John's wealth is revealed, Harry at the Burrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is a repost from Soron66

Chapter 2: Evil Uncle Lucius

Harry stepped in, his head almost touching the sloping ceiling, and blinked. It was like walking into a furnace: Nearly everything in Ron’s room seemed to be a violent shade of orange: the bedspread, the walls, even the ceiling. Then Harry realized that Ron had covered nearly every inch of the shabby wallpaper with posters of the same seven witches and wizards, all wearing bright orange robes, carrying broomsticks, and waving energetically.

“Your Quidditch team?” asked Harry.

“The Chudley Cannons,” answered said Ron, pointing at the orange bedspread, which was emblazoned with two giant black C’s and a speeding cannonball. “Ninth in the league.”

Ron’s school spellbooks were stacked untidily in a corner, next to a pile of comics that all seemed to feature _The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle._ Ron’s magic wand was lying on top of a fish tank full of frog spawn on the windowsill, next to his fat gray rat, Scabbers, who was snoozing in a patch of sun.

Harry stepped over a pack of Self-Shuffling playing cards on the floor and looked out of the tiny window. In the field far below he could see a gang of gnomes sneaking one by one back through the Weasleys’ hedge. Then he turned to look at Ron, who was watching him almost nervously, as though waiting for his opinion.

“It’s a bit small,” said Ron quickly, “Not like that room you had with the Muggles. And I’m right underneath the ghoul in the attic; he’s always banging on the pipes and groaning…”

But Harry, grinning widely, said, “This is the best house I’ve ever been in.”

Ron’s ears went pink.

Life at the Burrow was as different as possible from life on Privet Drive. The Dursleys liked everything neat and ordered; the Weasleys’ house burst with the strange and unexpected. Harry got a shock the first time he looked in the mirror over the kitchen mantelpiece and it shouted, _“Tuck your shirt in, scruffy!”_ The ghoul in the attic howled and dropped pipes whenever he felt things were getting too quiet, and small explosions from Fred and George’s bedroom were considered perfectly normal. What Harry found most unusual about life at Ron’s, however, wasn’t the talking mirror or the clanking ghoul: It was the fact that everybody there seemed to like him.

Mrs. Weasley fussed over the state of his socks and tried to force him to eat fourth helpings at every meal. Mr. Weasley liked Harry to sit next to him at the dinner table so that he could bombard him with questions about life with Muggles, asking him to explain how things like plugs and the postal service worked.

 _“Fascinating!”_ he would say as Harry talked him through using a telephone, _“Ingenious, really, how many ways Muggles have found of getting along without magic.”_

Maybe Arthur just did that because Harry was The Boy Who Lived. John never got such treatment after all. Especially, since his father was a muggle. Speaking of John, he had been spending most of the time pacing in his room that used to be a closet, but had received treatment to be bigger on the inside. Harry hadn’t had the time to ask why though. At least, that’s what Harry tells himself.

Harry heard from Hogwarts one sunny morning about a week after he had arrived at the Burrow. He and Ron went down to breakfast to find Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny already sitting at the kitchen table. The moment she saw Harry, Ginny accidentally knocked her porridge bowl to the floor with a loud clatter. Ginny seemed very prone to knocking things over whenever Harry entered a room. She dived under the table to retrieve the bowl and emerged with her face glowing like the setting sun. Pretending he hadn’t noticed this, Harry sat down and took the toast Mrs. Weasley offered him.

“Letters from school,” said Mr. Weasley, passing Harry and Ron identical envelopes of yellowish parchment, addressed in green ink, “Dumbledore already knows you’re here, Harry… doesn’t miss a trick, that man. You two’ve got them, too,” he added, as Fred and George ambled in, still in their pajamas. John also arrived in the room, this time wearing his clothes.

For a few minutes there was silence as they all read their letters. Harry’s told him to catch the Hogwarts Express as usual from King’s Cross station on September first. There was also a list of the new books he’d need for the coming year.

Second-year students will require:  
 _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_  
 _by Miranda Goshawk_  
 _Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart_  
 _Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart_  
 _Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart_  
 _Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart_  
 _Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart_  
 _Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart_ _  
_Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart

John’s expression grew from “meh” to “pissed-the-fuck-off.” He instinctively moved to grab his wand to incinerate all their lists, but as the books were required by the school he stopped himself and proceeded to bang his head on the table. Much to Molly’s chagrin.

“Why are you banging your head on the table, John?” Arthur asked concerned. However, the answer was evident when Fred, who had finished his own list, peered over at Harry’s.

“You’ve been told to get all Lockhart’s books, too!” he said, “The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher must be a fan… bet it’s a witch.”

“Oh,” Arthur mouthed understandingly as Fred caught his mother’s eye and quickly busied himself with the marmalade.

“That lot won’t come cheap,” said George, with a quick look at his parents. “Lockhart’s books are really expensive…”

“Well, we’ll manage,” said Mrs. Weasley, but she looked worried. “I expect we’ll be able to pick up a lot of Ginny’s things secondhand.”

“Oh, are you starting at Hogwarts this year?” Harry asked Ginny.

She nodded, blushing to the roots of her flaming hair, and put her elbow in the butter dish. Fortunately no one saw this except Harry, because just then Ron’s elder brother Percy walked in. He was already dressed, his Hogwarts prefect badge pinned to his sweater vest.

“Morning, all,” said Percy briskly. “Lovely day.”

“Canoodling with your girlfriend, were you?” John leered as he stopped banging his forehead which had grown redder than the reddest red known to man.

“John!” Molly exclaimed unhappy at John’s remark to Percy. However, her unhappiness was replaced with concern as she saw the color on his forehead. If she were to look down at the table, there’d be a dent the size of John’s forehead.

Percy sat down in the only remaining chair but leapt up again almost immediately, pulling from underneath him a molting, gray feather duster… at least, that was what Harry thought it was, until he saw that it was breathing.

“Errol!” said Ron, taking the limp owl from Percy and extracting a letter from under its wing. “Finally… he’s got Hermione’s answer. I wrote to her saying we were going to try and rescue you from the Dursleys.”

He carried Errol to a perch just inside the back door and tried to stand him on it, but Errol flopped straight off again causing John to snort in laughter so Ron laid him on the draining board instead, muttering, “Pathetic.” Then he ripped open Hermione’s letter and read it out loud:

“‘Dear Ron, and Harry if you’re there,’”

“‘I hope everything went alright and that Harry is okay and that you and John didn’t do anything illegal to get him out, Ron, because that would get Harry into trouble, too. I’ve been really worried and if Harry is all right, will you please let me know at once, but perhaps it would be better if you used a different owl, because I think another delivery might finish your one off.’”

John widened his eyes as Molly glared at John after hearing what Ron read from Hermione’s letter. John knew how terrifying Molly was when she was pissed off, and that’s why he used an astral projection instead of going in person. He didn’t even consider that Hermione would write back to Ron including him in her letter. He gulped as he looked away guiltily.

“‘I’m very busy with schoolwork, of course’… How can she be?” continued Ron in horror, “We’re on vacation! ‘And we’re going to London next Wednesday to buy my new books. Why don’t we meet in Diagon Alley? Let me know what’s happening as soon as you can. Love from Hermione.’”

“Well, that fits in nicely, we can go and get all your things then, too,” said Mrs. Weasley, starting to clear the table, “What’re you all up to today?”

Harry, Ron, Fred, and George were planning to go up the hill to a small paddock the Weasleys owned. It was surrounded by trees that blocked it from view of the village below, meaning that they could practice Quidditch there, as long as they didn’t fly too high. John was unable to go with them however, as Molly had held him back for an overdue shouting session.

They couldn’t use real Quidditch balls, which would have been hard to explain if they had escaped and flown away over the village; instead they threw apples for one another to catch. Even though John had used his muggle-magic to return the brooms to the condition they were when they were brand spanking new, the Weasleys and Harry took turns riding Harry’s Nimbus Two Thousand, which was easily the best broom; Ron’s old Shooting Star was often outstripped by passing butterflies.

Five minutes later they were marching up the hill, broomsticks over their shoulders. They had asked Percy if he wanted to join them, but he had said he was busy. Harry had only seen Percy at mealtimes so far; he stayed shut in his room the rest of the time.

“Wish I knew what he was up to,” said Fred, frowning. “He’s not himself. His exam results came the day before you did; twelve O.W.L.s and he hardly gloated at all.”

“Ordinary Wizarding Levels,” George explained, seeing Harry’s puzzled look, “Bill got twelve, too. If we’re not careful, we’ll have another Head Boy in the family. I don’t think I could stand the shame.”

Bill was the oldest Weasley brother. He and the next brother, Charlie, had already left Hogwarts. Harry had never met either of them, but knew that Charlie was in Romania studying dragons and Bill in Egypt working for the wizard’s bank, Gringotts.

“What I don’t understand is why John has been spending so much time in his closet,” Harry said.

“He received a letter the day we went to get you,” Ron explained.

“Refused to share it with us,” the Fred frowned.

“Said we’d muck it up just be being there!” George complained.

“Muck what up?” Harry asked confused.

“An exorcism,” sighed the twins in unison.

“The letter indicated it was urgent,” Ron said after a minute of silence between them, “however, his earliest convenience is Christmas.”

“So he’s trying to determine if he should skip the first day or wait till Christmas?” Harry concluded.

“Yeah,” Ron nodded, “Not the only problem though.”

“What else is there?” Harry asked.

“The bloke who requested his services is currently residing in the French Embassy,” Ron said, “and as John’s neither a British diplomat or French he doesn’t know how he’ll get in.”

“What about your dad?” Harry frowned.

“I asked him that too,” Ron sighed, “he just rejected it.”

“Dunno how Mum and Dad are going to afford all our school stuff this year,” said George changing the subject, “Five sets of Lockhart books! And Ginny needs robes and a wand and everything…”

Harry said nothing. He felt a bit awkward. Stored in an underground vault at Gringotts in London was a small fortune that his parents had left him. Of course, it was only in the wizarding world that he had money; you couldn’t use Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts in Muggle shops. He had never mentioned his Gringotts bank account to the Dursleys; he didn’t think their horror of anything connected with magic would stretch to a large pile of gold.

Mrs. Weasley woke them all early the following Wednesday. After a quick half a dozen bacon sandwiches each, they pulled on their coats and Mrs. Weasley took a flowerpot off the kitchen mantelpiece and peered inside.

“We’re running low, Arthur,” she sighed, “We’ll have to buy some more today… Ah well, guests first! After you, Harry dear!”

And she offered him the flowerpot.

Harry stared at them all watching him.

“W-what am I supposed to do?” he stammered.

“He’s never traveled by Floo powder,” said Ron suddenly. “Sorry, Harry, I forgot.”

“Never?” said Mr. Weasley. “But how did you get to Diagon Alley to buy your school things last year?”

“I went on the Underground…” Harry began.

“Really?” interrupted Mr. Weasley eagerly, “Were there escapators? How exactly-”

“Not now, Arthur,” said Mrs. Weasley, “Floo powder’s a lot quicker, dear, but goodness me, if you’ve never used it before…”

“He’ll be alright Molly,” John interrupted as he produced a bag and pulled something out of it. This was the same bag that contained the floo powder that he used to talk with Ron, Harry, and the others the night that Fluffy was revealed to Chas, Ron, Hermione, and Harry.

“Just watch me,” John said as he stepped into the bare fireplace, “Oh, and uh, I might be a bit late.”

“You’re going to go do it now?” Ron asked.

“No,” John said shaking his head knowing what Ron was asking, “Don’t have the room number. I just have to make a pit stop. I’ll be there soon enough though.”

“You’re going to go get your lighter!” Harry said in realization.

“No,” John said, “your bloody house is too well supervised, besides your pratt of an uncle would probably end up knocking me out and tying me up so that I’d still be there for when the coppers arrive.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, “You’re probably right.”

“Where are you heading then?” Fred asked.

John just smirked before he threw down the dust and vanished in a whoosh of emerald flames.

“So that’s what floo powder is,” Harry said remembering his first year when John had poked his head out of the Gryffindor common room’s fireplace, “What exactly is it?”

“Powder that you throw into a lit fireplace or a bare one,” Molly said wide-eyed that John hadn’t said a word when he vanished, “How did he do that? Nobody is capable of travelling with floo powder without saying their destination?”

“No idea,” the twins said with a look indicating that they were going to persuade John to teach them that trick no matter the cost.

“Okay Harry,” Fred said as he walked up and took a pinch of the glittering powder, “watch how I do it.”

He then turned to the flame which had changed color to a normal orange-y color for some reason nobody knew or cared to figure out at the moment. He stepped up to the fire, and threw the powder into the flames. With a roar, the fire turned emerald green and rose higher than Fred, who stepped right into it, shouted, “Diagon Alley!” and vanished.

“You must speak clearly, dear,” Mrs. Weasley told Harry as George dipped his hand into the flowerpot, “And be sure to get out at the right grate…”

“The right what?” said Harry nervously as the fire roared and whipped George out of sight, too.

“Well, there are an awful lot of wizard fires to choose from, you know, but as long as you’ve spoken clearly-”

“He’ll be fine, Molly, don’t fuss,” said Mr. Weasley, helping himself to Floo powder, too.

“But, dear, if he got lost, how would we ever explain to his aunt and uncle?”

“They wouldn’t mind,” Harry reassured her grimly, “Dudley would think it was a brilliant joke if I got lost up a chimney, don’t worry about that…”

“Well… all right… you go after Arthur,” said Mrs. Weasley, “Now, when you get into the fire, say where you’re going-”

“And keep your elbows tucked in,” Ron advised.

“And your eyes shut,” said Mrs. Weasley, “The soot-”

“Don’t fidget,” said Ron, “Or you might well fall out of the wrong fireplace-”

“But don’t panic and get out too early; wait until you see Fred and George.”

Trying hard to bear all this in mind, Harry took a pinch of Floo powder and walked to the edge of the fire. He took a deep breath, scattered the powder into the flames, and stepped forward; the fire felt like a warm breeze; he opened his mouth and immediately swallowed a lot of hot ash.

“D-Dia-gon Alley,” he coughed.

It felt as though he were being sucked down a giant drain. He seemed to be spinning very fast, the roaring in his ears was deafening, he tried to keep his eyes open but the whirl of green flames made him feel sick. Something hard knocked his elbow and he tucked it in tightly, still spinning and spinning. Now it felt as though cold hands were slapping his face, squinting through his glasses he saw a blurred stream of fireplaces and snatched glimpses of the rooms beyond. His bacon sandwiches were churning inside him. He closed his eyes again wishing it would stop, and then…”

He fell, face forward, onto cold stone and felt the bridge of his glasses snap.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?!” exclaimed a familiar Liverpudlian voice.

Dizzy and bruised, covered in soot, Harry got gingerly to his feet, holding his broken glasses up to his eyes. He saw John Constantine standing there looking at him with a shocked and annoyed expression. Wherever they were, he had no idea. All he could tell was that he was standing in the stone fireplace of what looked like a large, dimly lit wizard’s shop, but nothing in here was ever likely to be on a Hogwarts school list.

“I could ask you the same John,” Harry replied as he wiped the dust from his wizard robes.

“Just hurry out of here!” John hissed as Harry looked around the room at all the various items.

A glass case nearby held a withered hand on a cushion, a bloodstained pack of cards, and a staring glass eye. Evil-looking masks stared down from the walls, an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter, and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling. Even worse, the dark, narrow street Harry could see through the dusty shop window was definitely not Diagon Alley.

Harry agreed with John entirely. The sooner he got out of here, the better. Nose still stinging where it had hit the hearth, Harry made his way swiftly and silently toward the door, but before he’d got halfway toward it, two people appeared on the other side of the glass, and one of them was the very last person Harry wanted to meet when he was lost, covered in soot, and wearing broken glasses: Draco Malfoy.

“Over here!” John hissed at Harry from next to a cabinet.

When Harry heard John he turned around, and hurried over to the cabinet that John had opened. As soon as he got inside, John shut the door and an audible click could be heard.

“Don’t worry mate,” John said through the door, “I’ll unlock it once you’re free.”

Seconds later, a bell clanged, and Malfoy stepped into the shop. John had fortunately found a place to hide. However, the place he found more than likely wouldn’t be safe for long. Specifically, because he hid where he could keep an eye on the Malfoy’s.

The man who followed could only be Draco’s father. He had the same pale, pointed face and identical cold, gray eyes. Mr. Malfoy crossed the shop, looking lazily at the items on display, and rang a bell on the counter before turning to his son and saying, “Touch nothing, Draco.”

Malfoy, who had reached for the glass eye, said, “I thought you were going to buy me a present.”

“I said I would buy you a racing broom,” said his father, drumming his fingers on the counter.

“What’s the good of that if I’m not on the House team?” said Malfoy, looking sulky and bad-tempered, “Harry Potter got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor. He’s not even that good, it’s just because he’s famous… famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead…”

“Shut your scaly mouth!” John shouted as he stepped out from his hiding place and aimed his wand at Draco, “Or I’ll shut it for you.”

“Constantine!” snarled Draco as he too pulled out his wand.

“Draco,” Lucius chided, “put your wand away. We don’t kill family after all.”

“He’s no family of mine,” Draco sneered, “He’s just a half-blood that has allied himself with Potter and that mud-”

“Avis! Oppugno!” John yelled resulting in a flock of birds flying straight at Draco forcing him to cower as the birds began pecking at him.

“Dad!” Draco cried out as he curled into a ball to protect his important parts.

“Priori Incantatem,” Lucius said after a minute of looking down on Draco in disappointment. Suddenly, the birds disappeared allowing Draco to stand up.

“You’ll pay for that!” Draco seethed towards John, “My father will-”

“I will do nothing,” Lucius interrupted, “now, go wait outside Draco. I don’t need you causing anymore unneeded fights between family.”

“You’re being a lot more reasonable towards me than normal, Lucius,” John said narrowing his eyes at his uncle.

“I have a message for you,” Lucius said turning his cold gaze on John, “Its from the Minister for Magic.”

“What message is that?” John asked not really caring.

“I have no idea,” Lucius admitted unhappily as he pulled out an envelope from the inside pocket of his cloak, “he said to give this to you today.”

John slowly held out his hand for the envelope, but when he failed to grab hold of it as Lucius dropped it on purpose he didn’t bend over to pick it up. As Lucius had intended to kick John to the ground for using that spell on Draco he frowned internally. Instead, he merely pointed his wand at join and an arrow fired out of it and straight into his leg. The pain forced John to his knees as he went to pull it out.

“Ever attack my son again,” Lucius threatened as he kicked John to the floor and pressed his foot down into the wound causing the portion of the arrow inside of John to press against his wound at the same times as the portions outside of his wound, “and I won’t let the mere fact that you’re my sister’s son stop me from ending your life.”

He then removed his foot from John’s wound and turned his attention to the counter.

“Ah,” Lucius said as if nothing happened, “Mr. Borgin.”

A stooping man had appeared behind the counter, smoothing his greasy hair back from his face.

“Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again,” said Mr. Borgin in a voice as oily as his hair.

“Delighted to see you’re as ruthless as ever,” Mr. Borgin added as he looked down on the bleeding form of John, “What’d he do?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Lucius said stiffly, “I am here for business, not pleasantries.”

“Fine with me,” Borgin shrugged as he didn’t care one way or the other, “How may I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today, and very reasonably priced…”

“I’m not buying today, Mr. Borgin, but selling,” interrupted Mr. Malfoy.

“Selling?” The smile faded slightly from Mr. Borgin’s face.

“You have heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting more raids,” said Mr. Malfoy, taking a roll of parchment from his inside pocket and unraveling it for Mr. Borgin to read, “I have a few… ah… items at home that might embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call…”

Mr. Borgin fixed a pair of pince-nez to his nose and looked down the list.

“The Ministry wouldn’t presume to trouble you, sir, surely?”

Mr. Malfoy’s lip curled.

“I have not been visited yet. The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome. There are rumors about a new Muggle Protection Act, no doubt that flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it-”

Harry felt a hot surge of anger while John’s rage just increased but he didn’t do anything since he knew Lucius currently had the upper hand.

“and as you see," Lucius was saying, “certain of these poisons might make it appear-”

“I understand, sir, of course,” said Mr. Borgin. “Let me see…”

They started to haggle. Harry watched nervously as John continued bleeding out on the floor as he began crawling nearer and nearer to Harry's hiding place _._

“Done,” said Mr. Malfoy at the counter. He then turned around and stepped on John as he walked towards the exit.

“Good day to you, Mr. Borgin. I’ll expect you at the manor tomorrow to pick up the goods.”

The moment the door had closed, Mr. Borgin dropped his oily manner.

“Good day yourself, Mister Malfoy, and if the stories are true, you haven’t sold me half of what’s hidden in your manor…”

Muttering darkly, Mr. Borgin disappeared into a back room. John waited for a minute in case he came back, then, quietly as he could, muttered the unlocking spell which he aimed at the cabinet. Harry then slipped out of the cabinet, helped John to his feet, past the glass cases, and out of the shop door.

“Looks like I’m going to have to come back at some point later,” John muttered as the blood loss began getting to him.

Clutching his broken glasses to his face, Harry stared around. They had emerged into a dingy alleyway that seemed to be made up entirely of shops devoted to the Dark Arts. The one they’d just left, Borgin and Burkes, looked like the largest, but opposite was a nasty window display of shrunken heads and, two doors down, a large cage was alive with gigantic black spiders. Two shabby-looking wizards were watching them from the shadow of a doorway, muttering to each other. Feeling jumpy, Harry set off, trying to hold his glasses on straight and hoping against hope he’d be able to find a way out of here.

An old wooden street sign hanging over a shop selling poisonous candles told him they were in Knockturn Alley. This didn’t help, as Harry had never heard of such a place. He supposed he hadn’t spoken clearly enough through his mouthful of ashes back in the Weasleys’ fire. Trying to stay calm, he wondered what to do.

“Not lost are you, my dear?” said a voice in his ear, making him jump.

An aged witch stood in front of him, holding a tray of what looked horribly like whole human fingernails. She leered at him, showing mossy teeth. Harry backed away.

“We’re fine, thanks,” he said. “we’re just-”

“HARRY! JOHN! What d’yeh two think yer doin’ down there?”

Harry’s heart leapt. So did the witch; a load of fingernails cascaded down over her feet and she cursed as the massive form of Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, came striding toward them, beetle-black eyes flashing over his great bristling beard.

“Hagrid!” Harry croaked in relief, “I was lost… Floo powder…”

Hagrid picked up John and seized Harry by the scruff of the neck and pulled him away from the witch, knocking the tray right out of her hands. Her shrieks followed them all the way along the twisting alleyway out into bright sunlight. Harry saw a familiar, snow-white marble building in the distance… Gringotts Bank. Hagrid had steered him right into Diagon Alley.

“Yer both a mess!” said Hagrid gruffly, brushing remnant soot off Harry so forcefully he nearly knocked him into a barrel of dragon dung outside an apothecary, “Skulkin’ around Knockturn Alley, I dunno… dodgy place, Harry… don’ want no one ter see either of yeh down there…”

“I realized that,” said Harry, ducking as Hagrid made to brush him off again. “I told you, I was lost… what were you doing down there, anyway?”

“I was lookin’ fer a Flesh-Eatin’ Slug Repellent,” growled Hagrid. “They’re ruinin’ the school cabbages. Yeh two not on yer own?”

“I’m staying with the Weasleys and John’s living with them currently, but we got separated,” Harry explained. “I’ve got to go and find them…”

“‘Kay then,” Hagrid said as he laid John on the ground, “Firs’ we gotta remove this arro’ from ‘is leg. Happen ta have a clean cloth on yeh?”

“No…” Harry said as he looked at what Hagrid was doing.

“Very well then,” Hagrid sighed as he picked John up again, “Maybe we can find someone who can.”

They set off together down the street.

“How come yeh never wrote back ter me?” said Hagrid as Harry jogged alongside him (he had to take three steps to every stride of Hagrid’s enormous boots). Harry explained all about Dobby and the Dursleys.

“Lousy Muggles,” growled Hagrid. “If I’d’ve known-”

“Harry! Harry! Over here!”

Harry looked up and saw Hermione Granger standing at the top of the white flight of steps to Gringotts. She ran down to meet them, her bushy brown hair flying behind her.

“What happened to your glasses?” Hermione said, “ Hello, Hagrid…”

“What happened to John?” Hermione asked in concern as she finally noticed John and his condition.

“Draco’s dad sort of…” Harry said unsure how to explain it, “shot an arrow into John’s leg from his wand.”

“Ruttin’ bastards,” growled Hagrid, “attackin’ their own family like tha’. They make the Dursleys look like Fluffy.”

“That is a horrid comparison,” Harry and Hermione stated in unison.

“Not to me,” Hagrid said.

“Lay him on the ground,” Hermione said changing the subject.

“What’re yeh gonna do?” Hagrid asked as he did so.

“Remove the arrow and I’ll show you,” Hermione responded.

As soon as Hagrid removed the arrow, Hermione aimed her wand at the wound as she prepared to do a spell.

“Anapneo,” Hermione said and a second later John’s oozing wound began healing up. Eventually, the only evidence of him getting shot in the leg was holes in the back and front of his pants and blood that had had hardened the fabric. Hermione decided to do another spell and repaired john’s pants as well.

“Oh,” Hermione said as she stood up, “it’s wonderful to see you two again… Are you coming into Gringotts, Harry?”

“As soon as I’ve found the Weasleys,” said Harry.

“Yeh won’t have long ter wait,” Hagrid said with a grin.

Harry and Hermione looked around: Sprinting up the crowded street were Ron, Fred, George, Percy, and Mr. Weasley.

“Harry,” Mr. Weasley panted, “We hoped you’d only gone one grate too far…”

He mopped his glistening bald patch as he continued, “Molly’s frantic… she’s coming now…”

Where did you come out?” Ron asked.

“Knockturn Alley,” said Hagrid grimly.

“Excellent!” said Fred and George together.

“We’ve never been allowed in,” said Ron enviously.

“You wouldn’t last a day,” John groaned as he slowly got up to his feet.

“What happened to you?” Mr. Weasley asked.

“My uncle shot my leg with a magic arrow,” John said grimly, “nearly bled to death too. Who…”

John trailed off as he looked at the people near him till he saw Hermione.

“Of course,” John said, “It had to be you.”

Mrs. Weasley now came galloping into view, her handbag swinging wildly in one hand, Ginny just clinging onto the other.

“Oh, Harry… oh, my dear… you could have been anywhere…”

Gasping for breath she pulled a large clothes brush out of her bag and began sweeping off the soot Hagrid hadn’t managed to beat away. Mr. Weasley took Harry’s glasses, gave them a tap of his wand, and returned them, good as new.

“Well, gotta be off,” said Hagrid, who was having his hand wrung by Mrs. Weasley (“Knockturn Alley! If you hadn’t found him, Hagrid!”), “See yer at Hogwarts!”

And he strode away, head and shoulders taller than anyone else in the packed street.

“Why’d your uncle put an arrow in you?” Hermione asked.

“I sort of…” John said a little self-conscious as Mrs. Weasley was watching the conversation, “sent a flock of magical birds to peck at Draco…”

“Cool,” the twins said in unison.

“Not cool,” Hermione and Mrs. Weasley said in unison as well, “you could’ve seriously hurt him.”

“Well the wanker deserved it,” John defended himself, “He almost used the derogatory word specifically designed to insult muggle-borns.”

“That little-” Mrs. Weasley said angrily, “That whole family is nothing but rotten monsters! The lot of them!”

“Uh mum,” Ron said as he pointed a thumb at John.

“Oh,” Molly said her expression softening, “present company excluded of course.”

“Let’s just go get what we need from Gringotts,” Mr. Weasley said changing the subject, “and then finally get the shopping done with.”

“Oh,” John said remembering something as they headed towards the bank, “Arthur. You probably should know that my uncle was at Borgin and Burke’s.”

“Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything?” said Mr. Weasley sharply behind them.

“No, he was selling…”

“So he’s worried,” said Mr. Weasley with grim satisfaction. “Oh, I’d love to get Lucius Malfoy for something…”

“You be careful, Arthur,” said Mrs. Weasley sharply as they were bowed into the bank by a goblin at the door. “As we know already, that family’s trouble. Don’t go biting off more than you can chew-”

“So you don’t think I’m a match for Lucius Malfoy?” said Mr. Weasley indignantly, but he was distracted almost at once by the sight of Hermione’s parents, who were standing nervously at the counter that ran all along the great marble hall, waiting for Hermione to introduce them.

“Here we go,” John groaned. He was honestly getting tired of Arthur’s obsession with anything muggle-related.

“But you’re Muggles!” said Mr. Weasley delightedly, “We must have a drink! What’s that you’ve got there? Oh, you’re changing Muggle money. Molly, look!”

He pointed excitedly at the ten-pound notes in Mr. Granger’s hand.

“Meet you back here,” Ron said to Hermione as the Weasleys, John, and Harry were led off to their underground vaults by another Gringotts goblin.

The vaults were reached by means of small, goblin-driven carts that sped along miniature train tracks through the bank’s underground tunnels. Harry enjoyed the breakneck journey down to the Weasleys’ vault, but felt dreadful, far worse than he had in Knockturn Alley, when it was opened. There was a very small pile of silver Sickles inside, and just one gold Galleon. Mrs. Weasley felt right into the corners before sweeping the whole lot into her bag. Harry felt even worse when they reached his vault. He tried to block the contents from view as he hastily shoved handfuls of coins into a leather bag. John on the other hand, didn’t bother to hide how much money he had. After John’s vault opened everyone, including Harry, dropped their jaws as they saw that the vault was big enough to hold the entire Hogwarts Express inside and it was filled to the brim. They stayed that way as John grabbed some of his riches and placed them in some bags.

“What?” John asked innocently after he returned to the cart.

“I hate you,” the twins said in unison.

“How… when…” Ron stammered.

“Exorcising demons from prominent wizards pays very well,” John shrugged, “one of them even tried to give his daughter’s hand to me in marriage. I said no. Besides, I don’t use my money all that much.”

“Why not?” Harry asked confused.

“I’m going to need it to buy my own island one day,” John shrugged.

“Why would you do that?!” Ron exclaimed.

“Dragons,” John said bluntly, “where else can I have one? Use your head.”

“That’s right…” Harry said remembering, “he did say that he always wanted to have a dragon.”


	3. Halliwell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry, Constantine, and Ron meet the Halliwell sisters for the first time. John stops Ron and Harry from doing something entirely stupid, and Molly meets Dumbledore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Repost from Soron66

Chapter 3: Halliwell

Back outside on the marble steps, they all separated. Percy muttered vaguely about needing a new quill. Fred and George had spotted their friend from Hogwarts, Lee Jordan. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were going to a secondhand robe shop. Mr. Weasley was insisting on taking the Grangers off to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink.

“We’ll all meet at Flourish and Blotts in an hour to buy your school books,” said Mrs. Weasley, setting off with Ginny.

“And not one step down Knockturn Alley!” she shouted at the twins’ retreating backs.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and John strolled off along the winding, cobbled street. The bag of gold, silver, and bronze jangling cheerfully in Harry’s pocket was clamoring to be spent, so he bought three large strawberry-and-peanut-butter ice creams, which they slurped happily as they wandered up the alley, examining the fascinating shop windows. John didn’t want ice cream and elected for a water which was free. Ron gazed longingly at a full set of Chudley Cannon robes in the windows of Quality Quidditch Supplies until Hermione dragged them off to buy ink and parchment next door. John had noticed his expression as he had never known that Ron was a fanboy of the Chudley Cannons. He already knew what he was getting Ron for Christmas as a thank you for allowing him to stay over at the Burrow during the summer. In Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop, they met Fred, George, and Lee Jordan, who were stocking up on Dr. Filibuster’s Fabulous   
Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks, and in a tiny junk shop full of broken wands, lopsided brass scales, and old cloaks covered in potion stains they found Percy, deeply immersed in a small and deeply boring book called _Prefects Who Gained Power._ They hadn’t even noticed that John had closed his eyes and looked to go pale for a few minutes. Unknown to them, John had used his astral projection ability for a small task that will appear big later on in the year.

 _“A study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers,”_ Ron read aloud off the back cover.

“That sounds fascinating…” Ron added sarcastically.

“Go away,” Percy snapped.

“ ’Course, he’s very ambitious, Percy, he’s got it all planned out… He wants to be Minister of Magic…” Ron told Harry, Hermione, and John in an undertone as they left Percy to it.

“I would really hate for that to happen,” John frowned, “not to be insulting, but Percy is a bit of a stick in the mud and incredibly dull.”

“Yeah,” Ron sighed, “but he’s my brother so I have no choice but to support him… otherwise mum would find a way to ground me for life.”

An hour later, they headed for Flourish and Blotts. They were by no means the only ones making their way to the bookshop. As they approached it, they saw to their surprise a large crowd jostling outside the doors, trying to get in. The reason for this was proclaimed by a large banner stretched across the upper windows:

GILDEROY LOCKHART   
will be signing copies of his autobiography   
_MAGICAL ME_   
today 12:30 p.m. to 4:30 p.m.

“Egotistical wanker,” John grouched as he gave the banner the evil eye.

“Don’t be like that!” Hermione snapped.

“We can actually meet him!” Hermione squealed forgetting her anger at John’s evident hate towards Gilderoy Lockhart . “I mean, he’s written almost the whole booklist!”

The crowd seemed to be made up mostly of witches around Mrs. Weasley’s age. A harassed-looking wizard stood at the door, saying, “Calmly, please, ladies… Don’t push, there… mind the books, now…”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione squeezed inside. A long line wound right to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was signing his books. They each grabbed a copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 and sneaked up the line to where the rest of the Weasleys were standing with Mr. and Mrs. Granger.

“Oh, there you are, good,” said Mrs. Weasley. She sounded breathless and kept patting her hair, “We’ll be able to see him in a minute…”

“Maybe he’ll drop dead,” John said hopefully earning scowls from several of the witches and grins from several of the men that happened to be married to several of the witches… who were clearly crushing bigtime on Gilderoy.

Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view, seated at a table surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd. The real Lockhart was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes; his pointed wizard’s hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy   
Hair.

A short, irritable-looking man was dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash.

“Out of the way, there,” he snarled at Ron, moving back to get a better shot, “This is for the Daily Prophet-”

“Alarte ascendare,” John whispered aiming at the camera with his wand causing it to go flying out of the photographer’s hands and into the air before falling back down. Unfortunately for the photographer he was too slow to catch it in time before it broke on the floor

“Who the bloody hell just-” the photographer exclaimed before he whirled on Ron with a ferocious look.

“You little shit!” the photographer shouted as he grabbed Ron just to be blasted in the face by a red bolt of a spell.

“You keep your hands of my son you dick!” Molly Weasley said angrily but calmly with her wand raised.

Gilderoy Lockhart noticed the commotion in the corner of his eye and looked up. He saw Molly putting her wand away, but he didn’t care about that. Standing next to her more or less… were Harry Potter the Boy Who Lived and John Constantine the Youngest Exorcist in a Century.

“It can’t be Harry Potter and John Constantine!” Gilderoy Lockhart shouted as he jumped to his feet.

The crowd parted, whispering excitedly; Lockhart dived forward, seized both Harry’s and John’s arms each, and pulled them to the front. The crowd burst into applause. Harry’s face burned and John’s face grew even more annoyed as Lockhart shook their hand for the photographer, who was clicking away madly, wafting thick smoke over the Weasleys. The photographer had clearly repaired his camera after recovering from the spell launched at him by Molly. The spell was stupify.

“Nice big smile, you two,” said Lockhart, through his own gleaming teeth. “Together, the three of us are worth the front page.”

When he finally let go of their hands, Harry and John could hardly feel their fingers. They tried to sidle back over to the Weasleys, but Lockhart threw an arm around each of their shoulders and clamped them tightly to his side.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said loudly, waving for quiet. “What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I’ve been sitting on for some time!”

“Why don’t you just shut up,” John growled so only Lockhart and Harry could hear him. Harry felt the same, but he was way too kind to reveal that fact.

“When young Misters Harry and John here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, they only wanted to buy my autobiography-” Lockhart began ignoring John.

“I would like to buy the lot,” John muttered, “only so I could use them as kindling.” 

“Which I shall,” Gilderoy continued still ignoring John even though he heard him, “be happy to present them now, free of charge…”

The crowd applauded again.

“They had no idea,” Lockhart continued, giving Harry and John a little shake that made Harry's glasses slip to the end of his nose, “that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, Magical Me. He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”

John grinned internally as he had already decided how he was going to get the exorcism done. Just do it during Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Outwardly, his glower turned into a glare.

The crowd cheered and clapped and both Harry and John found themselves being presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Staggering slightly under their weight, they managed to make their way out of the limelight to the edge of the room, where Ginny was standing next to her new cauldron.

“You have these,” Harry mumbled to her, tipping the books into the cauldron, “I’ll buy my own-”

“Bet you loved that, didn’t you, Potter?” said a voice Harry had no trouble recognizing. He straightened up and found himself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy, who was wearing his usual sneer.

“Sod off bird feed,” John snarled. Draco immediately paled and stumbled back as he didn’t even realize that John was there. Also, he was now irrationally afraid of birds… except for owls.

“Famous Harry Potter,” continued Malfoy as he recovered, “Can’t even go into a bookshop without making the front page.”

“And you’re no better,” Draco said with a hateful glare towards John.

“Leave him alone, he didn’t want all that!” said Ginny. It was the first time she had spoken in front of Harry. She was glaring at Malfoy.

“Potter, you’ve got yourself a girlfriend!” drawled Malfoy. Ginny went scarlet as Ron and Hermione fought their way over, both clutching stacks of Lockhart’s books.

“Even if he had,” John said with a sneer, “it’s more than you’ll ever get. You’re nothing but a slimy, useless, incompetent, waste of space who can’t even fly a broom properly. Potter is infinitely better at flying than you ever were or ever will be.”

Draco opened his mouth to respond in kind, but stopped when Ron and Hermione arrived.

“Oh, it’s you,” said Ron, looking at Malfoy as if he were something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. “Bet you’re surprised to see Harry here, eh?”

“Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley,” retorted Malfoy. “I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those.”

Ron went as red as Ginny. He dropped his books into the cauldron, too, and started toward Malfoy, but Harry and Hermione grabbed the back of his jacket. However, John was too quick for them and proceeded to punch Draco hard in the face breaking his nose.

“Ever insult any of my friends again,” John whispered darkly as he pulled Draco’s ear close to him, “and I’ll do more than break your nose.”

“Ron!” said Mr. Weasley, struggling over with Fred and George. “What are you doing? It’s too crowded in here, let’s go outside.”

They didn’t even see john punch Draco hard enough in the face to break his nose. However, when Lucius showed up he noticed Draco’s condition and turned his cold stare towards John and smirked evilly. He was about to pull his wand from his cane when Arthur Weasley arrived. He then stopped and gave Arthur and even colder stare.

“Well, well, well…” Lucius said coldly, “Arthur Weasley.”

“Lucius,” said Mr. Weasley, nodding just as coldly.

“Busy time at the Ministry, I hear,” said Mr. Malfoy, “All those raids… I hope they’re paying you overtime?”

He reached into Ginny’s cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of _A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration_.

“Obviously not,” Mr. Malfoy said rudely, “Dear me, what’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it?”

Mr. Weasley flushed darker than either Ron or Ginny. John’s furious expression went straight to pissed off at that, and he inched his hand towards his wand. He stopped when Arthur gave him a quick look. He then returned his hand to its former position and just settled for clenching his fists.

“We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy,” Arthur said calmly but angrily.

“Clearly,” said Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were watching apprehensively. “The company you keep, Weasley… and I thought your family could sink no lower-”

“You son of a whore!” John yelled as he and Arthur both leapt at Lucius. As they did that, there was a thud of metal as Ginny’s cauldron went flying. Both John and Arthur had knocked Lucius Malfoy backward into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks came thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of, “Get him, Dad!” from Fred or George; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, “No, Arthur, John, no!”; the crowd stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over; “Gentlemen, please… please!” cried the assistant, and then, louder than all…

“Break it up, there, gents, break it up…”

Hagrid was wading toward them through the sea of books. In an instant he had pulled Mr. Weasley, John, and Mr. Malfoy apart. Mr. Weasley had a cut lip and Mr. Malfoy had been hit in the eye by an _Encyclopedia of Toadstools_. John’s clothes had been ripped and one of his eyes looked like it was bleeding internally due to a bookshelf slamming right onto it. Lucius was still holding Ginny’s old Transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with malice.

“Here, girl… take your book… it’s the best your father can give you…” Pulling himself out of Hagrid’s grip he beckoned to Draco and swept from the shop.

“Yeh should’ve ignored him, Arthur,” said Hagrid, almost lifting Mr. Weasley off his feet as he straightened his robes. “Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that… no Malfoy’s worth listenin’ ter… bad blood, that’s what it is… come on now… let’s get outta here.”

“I’ll try not to be offended,” John said still pissed off.

“Sorry,” Hagrid said apologetically, “I forgo’ about tha’. Yeh just don’ seem like a Malfoy to meh.”

The assistant looked as though he wanted to stop them from leaving, but he barely came up to Hagrid’s waist and seemed to think better of it. They hurried up the street, the Grangers shaking with fright and Mrs. Weasley beside herself with fury.

“A _fine_ example to set for your children…” Molly said sarcastically, “brawling in public… what Gilderoy Lockhart must’ve thought-”

“He was pleased,” said Fred, “Didn’t you hear him as we were leaving? He was asking that bloke from the Daily Prophet if he’d be able to work the fight into his report… said it was all publicity… ”

“Besides,” John said as he bumped into people and things as his right eye was going blind, “Lucius deserved what he got. He insulted both the Grangers and your family at the same time.”

“That snake,” hissed Molly before she looked back at the Grangers.

“Don’t let the Malfoys ruin your impression of the wizarding world,” Molly said kindly, “most of us don’t share the same prejudiced and racist beliefs that people like the Malfoys do.”

But it was a subdued group that headed back to the fireside in the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry, the Weasleys, and all their shopping would be traveling back to the Burrow using Floo powder. They said good-bye to the Grangers, who were leaving the pub for the Muggle street on the other side; Mr. Weasley started to ask them how bus stops worked, but stopped quickly at the look on Mrs. Weasley’s face.

“Is anyone here other than me noticing that my right eye is badly damaged?” John asked as the pain increased, “I can’t see out of the thing either.”

“Oh…” Hermione said as she whipped out her wand and aimed it at his eye, “hold extremely still.”

“Anepneo,” Hermione said for the second time that day. John blinked more than once till the pain had vanished and he could see again.

“Thanks luv,” John smiled, “cya at Hogwarts.”

“You too,” Hermione said in return.

“Have my books,” John grunted as he gave the Lockhart books to Harry, “i won’t be going to Defense Against the Dark Arts this year anyway.”

Harry took off his glasses and put them safely in his pocket before helping himself to Floo powder. It definitely wasn’t his favorite way to travel.

**Later…**

The end of summer vacation came too quickly for Harry’s liking. He was looking forward to getting back to Hogwarts, but his month at the Burrow had been the happiest of his life. It was difficult not to feel jealous of Ron when he thought of the Dursleys and the sort of welcome he could expect next time he turned up on Privet Drive.

On their last evening, Mrs. Weasley conjured up a sumptuous dinner that included all of Harry and John’s favorite things, ending with a mouthwatering treacle pudding. Fred and George rounded off the evening with a display of Filibuster fireworks; they filled the kitchen with red and blue stars that bounced from ceiling to wall for at least half an hour. Then it was time for a last mug of hot chocolate and bed.

It took a long while to get started next morning. They were up at dawn, but somehow they still seemed to have a great deal to do. Mrs. Weasley dashed about in a bad mood looking for spare socks and quills; people kept colliding on the stairs, half-dressed with bits of toast in their hands; and Mr. Weasley nearly broke his neck, tripping over a stray chicken as he crossed the yard carrying Ginny’s trunk to the car.

Harry couldn’t see how nine people, seven large trunks, two owls, and a rat were going to fit into one small Ford Anglia. He had reckoned, of course, without the special features that Mr. Weasley had added.

“Not a word to Molly,” he whispered to Harry and John as he opened the trunk and showed him how it had been magically expanded so that the luggage fitted easily.

“I should use that enchantment myself,” John mused, “maybe on a backpack? The possibilities…”

When at last they were all in the car, Mrs. Weasley glanced into the back seat, where Harry, Ron, Fred, George, John, and Percy were all sitting comfortably side by side, and said, “Muggles do know more than we give them credit for, don’t they?” She and Ginny got into the front seat, which had been stretched so that it resembled a park bench. “I mean, you’d never know it was this roomy from the outside, would you?”

Mr. Weasley started up the engine and they trundled out of the yard, Harry turning back for a last look at the house. He barely had time to wonder when he’d see it again when they were back… George had forgotten his box of Filibuster fireworks. Five minutes after that, they skidded to a halt in the yard so that Fred could run in for his broomstick. They had almost reached the highway when Ginny shrieked that she’d left her diary. John quickly realized that he forgot his tan raincoat that ended at his thighs, so he hurried back to the house alongside Ginny. By the time they had clambered back into the car, they were running very late, and tempers were running high.

Mr. Weasley glanced at his watch and then at his wife.

“Molly, dear-”

“No, Arthur-”

“No one would see… this little button here is an Invisibility Booster I installed… that’d get us up in the air… then we fly above the clouds. We’d be there in ten minutes and no one would be any the wiser…”

“I said no, Arthur, not in broad daylight-”

They reached King’s Cross at a quarter to eleven. Mr. Weasley dashed across the road to get trolleys for their trunks and they all hurried into the station.

Harry had caught the Hogwarts Express the previous year. The tricky part was getting onto platform nine and three-quarters, which wasn’t visible to the Muggle eye. What you had to do was walk through the solid barrier dividing platforms nine and ten. It didn’t hurt, but it had to be done carefully so that none of the Muggles noticed you vanishing.

“Percy first,” said Mrs. Weasley, looking nervously at the clock overhead, which showed they had only five minutes to disappear casually through the barrier.

Percy strode briskly forward and vanished. Mr. Weasley went next; Fred and George followed.

“I’ll take Ginny and you three come right after us,” Mrs. Weasley told John, Harry, and Ron, grabbing Ginny’s hand and setting off. In the blink of an eye they were gone.

“Let’s go together, we’ve only got a minute,” Ron said to Harry and John. Harry made sure that Hedwig’s cage was safely wedged on top of his trunk and wheeled his trolley around to face the barrier. John did the same with his trolley and then prepared himself behind the other two. Harry felt perfectly confident; this wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as using Floo powder. All three of them bent low over the handles of their trolleys and walked purposefully toward the barrier, gathering speed. A few feet away from it, they broke into a run and-

CRASH

All three trolleys hit the barrier and bounced backward; Ron’s trunk fell off with a loud thump, Harry was knocked off his feet, and Hedwig’s cage bounced onto the shiny floor, and she rolled away, shrieking indignantly; people all around them stared and a guard nearby yelled, “What in blazes d’you think you’re doing?”

Harry and Ron glared at John who managed to stop himself before colliding with them and was laughing at their misfortune. Harry then turned his attention towards the guard.

“Lost control of the trolley,” Harry gasped, clutching his ribs as he got up. Ron ran to pick up Hedwig, who was causing such a scene that there was a lot of muttering about cruelty to animals from the surrounding crowd.

“Why can’t we get through?” Harry hissed to Ron.

“I dunno-”

“Let me see if I can find out,” John said as he pulled what looked like a monocle and held it up to his eye.

Ron looked wildly around. A dozen curious people were still watching them.

“Jesus bloody Christ,” hissed John.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“Portal has been closed,” John said grimly.

“Oh,” Ron groaned, “we were too late.”

“No,” John said as he put the monocle away, “a third party closed it."

He then held his chin with one hand as he thought of how it could happen or rather who could’ve done it.

“Can’t have been a witch or a wizard,” John muttered to himself, “happened too quickly. Could’ve been a goblin, but they don’t give a damn about stopping a student from going through a portal unless said student had a goblin made device they felt belonged to them. That leaves only…”

“Son of a bitch!” John yelled as he kicked the pillar hard with his right foot.

“What is it?” Ron asked.

“A house elf was what closed the portal,” John explained as he massaged his foot while leaning on the pillar.

“Why would a house elf want us to miss the train,” Ron asked confused.

“Think about it you dunces,” John said sourly, “what house elf do we know that has already tried to stop one of us from going to Hogwarts.”

“Dobby,” Harry said in realization, “Dobby tried to stop me yet again!”

“You’re definitely smarter than you appear mate,” John grunted as he put his foot down on the ground. They then looked at the clock and noticed that it had hit the precise time that the train was supposed to leave.

“It’s gone,” said Ron, sounding stunned. “The train’s left. What if Mum and Dad can’t get back through to us? Have you got any Muggle money?”

Harry gave a hollow laugh, “The Dursleys haven’t given me pocket money for about six years.”

Ron pressed his ear to the cold barrier.

“Can’t hear a thing,” he said tensely.

“What do you expect?” John snorted, “it’s a bloody pillar.”

What’re we going to do?” Ron said ignoring John, “I don’t know how long it’ll take Mum and Dad to get back to us.”

They looked around. People were still watching them, mainly because of Hedwig’s continuing screeches.

“I think we’d better go and wait by the car,” said Harry, “We’re attracting too much atten-”

“Harry!” said Ron, his eyes gleaming. “The car!”

“What about it?”

“We can fly the car to Hogwarts!”

“No,” John said sharply, “Way too risky. I have a risk-free solution.”

“What’s that gonna be?” Ron asked with a frown, “more of your muggle-magic?”

“No,” John said, “I’m going to use my astral projection.”

“I thought you wanted that kept secret except from those you trust,” Ron said forgetting his irritation.

“I’d say we don’t have much of a choice in the matter,” John said, “unless any of you are willing to write to the Headmaster and let him know of our situation.”

“Of course!” Harry said slapping his forehead, “I can’t believe I forgot that is what Hedwig was born for!”

“Let’s do so at the car,” John said.

**A few minutes later, at the car…**

John, Harry, and Ron were at the car minus one living creature. Harry had written his letter very quickly and had already sent it to the school. Now they were just waiting for Molly and Arthur Weasley to return.

“Hi there,” said an american female voice from nearby. They turned and saw three girls standing nearby as a cab drove away. Two had black hair and one had brownish hair. The brownish haired girl and the taller black haired girl were the only two of the three to have short hair. They did have some similarities however. The older girl was the only one with cleavage while the other two were fairly flat.

“Hi there,” Harry responded.

“We’re new around here,” the older one explained, “can you lead us the way to platform 9 ¾?”

Ron, Harry, and John looked at each other once before looking back at the girls.

“There’s no such-” Harry began.

“Nevermind,” the older girl said with a frown directed at Harry, “come on Phoebe, Piper we have to catch that train or we’ll never get to Hogwarts.”

“Just wait by us,” John called over to them, “Heading to the platform is a waste of time now anyway.”

“What makes you say that?” the older girl challenged.

“For one,” John said as he walked up to her, “we missed the bloody train ourselves. The portal to the platform closed on us preventing us from catching it.”

“And for two?” the older girl asked.

“My friend over there with the lightning shaped scar,” John said as he pointed a thumb at Harry, “already sent a letter to Hogwarts via his pet owl Hedwig.”

“My lord,” Phoebe said, “is that really THE Harry Potter?”

“Aye luv,” John said.

Phoebe then ran over to Harry and began curling her hair in her hand as she said, “Hi.”

“Um,” Harry said uncomfortably, “Hi?”

“What is your name?” the older girl asked John.

“I’m John Constantine,” John said as put his hands in his pockets, “Exorcist, Demonologist, and wizard.”

“THE John Constantine?” the older girl asked.

“So,” John said raising his eyebrow, “tales of my exorcisms have reached America already has it? Specifically Ilvermorny?”

“Yeah,” the older girl said with a smile as she began shifting her body’s weight between each foot.

“What years are you three?” John asked, “and what are your names? Don’t just want to call you the three hermanas."

“My name is Prue Halliwell and I’m a 3rd year,” the older girl, “the one who rushed to Harry Potter is my youngest sister Phoebe, and the one next to me is Piper. Piper is a 2nd year, and Phoebe is going to become a first year.”

“What’s with the transferring?” John asked curiously.

“Our only family that’s left resides in the U.K,” Prue said sadly.

“I don’t think your sister is going to let Harry out of her sight for a while,” John said as he looked back towards the car, “so, you three may as well stick with us.”

**Another few minutes later…**

Ron was the first one to perk up when Molly and Arthur exited King’s Cross Station. As soon as the adult Weasleys saw them they hurried over with a concerned expression on their faces.

“What are you three doing out here?” Arthur asked, “you should be on your way to Hogwarts by now.”

“Portal closed before we could,” John explained.

“No it didn’t,” Arthur said.

“Then it turned into a one-way portal,” John said, “point is… we’re going to need aid to get to school.”

Arthur and Molly finally registered the three sisters when the older one cleared her throat.

“Oh hello,” Molly said nervously, “we’re just talking-”

“They’re witches,” John interrupted the Weasley adults.

“Oh,” Molly said relieved.

“Molly, Arthur,” John introduced, “meet Prue, Phoebe, and Piper Halliwell. Halliwell sisters meet Molly and Arthur Weasley.”

“Hello,” the sisters greeted.

“Americans,” Molly said shocked, “what are you girls doing all the way in London? Shouldn’t you be in Ilvermorny?”

“Piper and I are transfers,” Prue explained, “Phoebe is a first year.”

“You missed the train as well, didn’t you,” Arthur realized.

“Yes we did Mr. Weasley,” Prue confirmed.

“Oh you poor dears,” Molly sighed, “We’ll send an owl to Hogwarts immediately.”

“Harry already did, Molly,” John said.

“Before those two arrived,” John added as an afterthought.

“Well, then,” Molly said, “I guess we’ll just head home for the time being. You three are more than welcome to join us girls.”

After the girls graciously accepted, Molly and Arthur got in the front seat with Ron while Harry got in the back. Piper was to John’s left, and Prue was to his right. Phoebe was to Harry’s right while Prue was to his left.

**Later, at night…**

John, Harry, and Ron were busy helping with cleaning things. Of course, John finished his part of the chores quickly. That is why he was currently just sitting against a tree once again absentmindedly drawing in the air with his wand. This time it was a Triquetra. However, he was once again jolted to alertness by an american female voice.

“You have premonitions too?!” said Phoebe excitedly.

“Premo-what?” John said confused. He then looked at the drawing and frowned as this was the second time he had done so. He quickly waved his wand through the air destroying the drawing before he stood up.

“Premonitions,” Phoebe explained, “it means you can see the future and past. Mostly the future though.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble,” John grunted as he began walking off, “I don’t have premonitions.”

“But you drew my family crest,” Phoebe said as she hurried to catch up, “how else would you know about it?”

That stopped him in his tracks as he looked at her with the intention to speak. However, he didn’t have the chance as someone appeared out of nowhere right behind them with a loud crack. Both Phoebe and John cried out in surprise before they turned around and saw an older man wearing a purple set of robes with a long white beard and half moon spectacles staring at them.

“Professor Dumbledore,” John said in relief.

“Hello John,” Dumbledore said with a kind expression, “I do apologize if I startled you and young Miss Halliwell.”

“You know who I am?” Phoebe said confused.

“Of course my dear,” Dumbledore said kindly, “Your name was added to my school’s list before last year ended after all.”

“Oh,” Phoebe said.

“Now then,” Dumbledore said as he looked around, “I must speak with Molly and Arthur Weasley. Do you have any idea where I might find them?”

“Probably inside,” John said.

“I see,” Dumbledore said, “Well, lead on then. As you lived here during the summer, you are the host.”

John just grumbled as he and Phoebe led Dumbledore to the crooked house. When they arrived, John opened the door and looked around before he saw Molly in the kitchen.

“Molly,” John called, “guess who’s come.”

Molly Weasley looked towards the sound of John’s voice and saw Professor Dumbledore standing behind John and Phoebe.

“You’re Professor Dumbledore,” Molly said in realization.

“Indeed I am Mrs. Weasley,” Dumbledore said as he waited outside the house, “Mind if I come in?”

“Of course, of course!” Molly said quickly as she waved her wand causing allowing the dishes to start cleaning themselves, “Do you want some tea?”

“No thank you Mrs. Weasley,” Dumbledore said as he raised a hand to indicate for her to stop bustling about while he himself entered the house, “I’ve come to take the students to Hogwarts, but first I need to know what happened from your point of view. I already know Harry’s.”

“Of course,” Molly repeated as she led Dumbledore to the living room where they sat down.

“Let’s let them talk in private,” John said as he slowly walked towards the stairs, “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to start packing again.”

“Yeah,” Phoebe agreed as they headed up the stairs, “I’ll go tell Prue and Piper that one of the Hogwarts teachers are here to take us to school.”

“He’s the headmaster,” John informed her as he stopped by his room, “I’ll send a message to Ron and Harry as well.”

Once everyone was packed and Dumbledore and Molly finished their conversation, Dumbledore led them out of the house and held out his arms.

“Hold tight,” Dumbledore instructed. As soon as everyone grabbed his arms and held tight, they vanished with a resounding crack leaving Molly the only person at the Burrow till Arthur returns from work.


	4. Gilderoy Lockhart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> first day of classes begin. Hermione meets Piper and Anne Marie meets Phoebe. Prue humiliates Draco.

Chapter 4: Gilderoy Lockhart

The next day, however, John barely grinned once. Things started to go downhill from breakfast in the Great Hall. The four long House tables were laden with tureens of porridge, plates of kippers, mountains of toast, and dishes of eggs and bacon, beneath the enchanted ceiling (today, a dull, cloudy gray). John sat down at the Ravenclaw table next to Anne Marie, who had her copy of _Voyages with Vampires_ propped open against a milk jug.

“Morning,” Anne said without looking away from her book. There was a slight stiffness in the way she said it. John had no clue as to why she was acting this way, but before he could ask her about it someone bumped into them causing them to spill gravy all over their robes by knocking the bowl of gravy over(they’ll never figure out how they were the ones that got coated in gravy). Both John and Anne turned to glare at the klutz and saw Neville Longbottom. Neville was a round-faced and accident-prone boy with the worst memory of anyone John had ever met.

“Watch where you’re going mate,” John grunted as he used a fairly harmless muggle-magic spell to clean up the mess, “Next time, you might ruin my Draco’s clothes and you know how much he likes to take things to the extreme.”

“Sorry John,” Neville mumbled.

“Why are you over here anyway Neville?” Anne asked narrowing her eyes at him, “You should be at the Gryffindor table.”

“I needed to talk to John,” Neville said nervously under her penetrating gaze.

John regarded Neville quietly for a bit, but then once he came to a decision he sighed.

“We’ll talk before our houses’ shared class starts later,” John said.

“Okay,” Neville said brightening up a bit, “thank you John.”

At that, he clumsily returned to the Gryffindor table near to Harry, Hermione, and Ron. He also saw Prue Halliwell sitting there talking to Fred and George Weasley. At the Hufflepuff table, he saw Piper Halliwell who was busy talking to Gary Lester who John had only seen once during the sorting ceremony the previous year.

“Hiya John,” said a voice right next to him. He slightly jumped when he saw Phoebe sitting right next to him putting food onto an empty plate.

John just grunted in response before he grabbed his toast and chowed down on it. Anne however, was interested in the new girl.

“Hi,” Anne said holding her arm out to shake Phoebe’s, “I’m Anne Marie and you are?”

“I’m Phoebe Halliwell,” Phoebe replied shaking Anne’s hand, “Nice to meet you.”

“How do you know John?” anne asked as she brought her cup to her mouth.

“My sisters and I missed the train,” Phoebe admitted, “so, we hitched a ride with John.”

“That year at the Weasleys has made you nicer,” Anne teased John. John just ignored her, because he felt like hexing her mouth shut right there. However, hexing friends is never a good idea.

“Mail’s due any minute…” Anne said looking up for a second, “I think Mum’s sending a few things I forgot.”

“What could you have possibly forgotten?” John asked dryly.

“Oh,” Anne said cryptically, “You know, girl stuff.”

John had only just started turned his attention to his porridge when, sure enough, there was a rushing sound overhead and a hundred or so owls streamed in, circling the hall and dropping letters and packages into the chattering crowd. A big, lumpy package bounced off Anne’s head and, a second later, something large and gray fell into Phoebe’s jug, spraying them all with milk and feathers.

“Errol!” snorted John, pulling the bedraggled owl out by the feet. Errol slumped, unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air and a damp envelope in his beak. With a sigh, he removed the envelope before tossing the retarded bird onto the table. He glanced at the name, and much to his shock it had his name on it.

“So,” Anne asked curious, “You going to open it?”

“Since I’m not going to get any peace from you until I do…” John sighed, “yes.”

He then opened the letter and looked at what was written on it. Phoebe and Anne looked over John’s shoulder and read:

_Dear Mr. Constantine,_

_I regret to inform you that your request for a pass into the French Embassy has been rejected. However, due to the nature and time sensitivity of your business we’ll be sending over an Auror to Hogwarts as soon as possible. Expect him to arrive later in the day. He will take you to Monsieur Delacour’s room. Good luck in your task, and have a good day._

_M_

_P.S. Arthur Weasley requested that you give this moronic owl Ronald Weasley so he can take care of this._

John sighed in relief, because he assumed the Auror was going to arrive in time for him to can skip Defense Against the Dark Arts. However, Phoebe was confused by the letter so she opened her mouth to ask a question.

“He’s an exorcist,” Anne explained, “and he gets jobs from random people. He’s actually fairly successful based on how much he’s sending to me.”

“He sends you money?!” Phoebe exclaimed in shock.

“Yes,” Anne smiled, “it’s rather sweet as well, because my dad is in St. Mundo’s for a curse that put him into a coma. Every donation John makes, the more likely my father can be cured.”

John rolled his eyes as he out the letter away before turning his attention back to his food.

**Later, with Harry…**

Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the castle together, crossed the vegetable patch, and made for the greenhouses, where the magical plants were kept. As they neared the greenhouses they saw the rest of the class standing outside, waiting for Professor Sprout. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had only just joined them when she came striding into view across the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart.

Professor Sprout was a squat little witch who wore a patched hat over her flyaway hair; there was usually a large amount of earth on her clothes and her fingernails would have made Aunt Petunia faint. Gilderoy Lockhart, however, was immaculate in sweeping robes of turquoise, his golden hair shining under a perfectly positioned turquoise hat with gold trimming.

“Oh, hello there!” he called, beaming around at the assembled students, “Just been showing Professor Sprout the right way to determine a Whomping Willow’s health! But I don’t want you running away with the idea that I’m better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels . . .”

“Greenhouse three today, chaps!” interrupted Professor Sprout, who was looking distinctly disgruntled, not at all her usual cheerful self.

There was a murmur of interest. They had only ever worked in greenhouse one before greenhouse three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants. Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door. Harry caught a whiff of damp earth and fertilizer mingling with the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the ceiling. He was about to follow Ron and Hermione inside when Lockhart’s hand shot out.

“Harry!” Gilderoy grinned, “I’ve been wanting a word…”

“You don’t mind if he’s a couple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?” Gilderoy asked turning to look at the short teacher.

Judging by Professor Sprout’s scowl, she did mind, but Lockhart didn’t care.

“That’s the ticket,” Lockhart said as he closed the greenhouse door in her face.

“Harry,” said Lockhart, his large white teeth gleaming in the sunlight as he shook his head. “I thought I’d come by and ask if you’d be willing to by my assistant for our classes. So, will you?”

“Sorry Professor,” Harry said revolted at the idea, “but I’m just a second year. I have little to no useful knowledge on the Dark Arts.”

“I understand,” Lockhart sighed disappointed, “well, maybe when you’re older.”

At that, Lockhart turned around and headed towards the castle.

“Egotistical git,” Harry muttered to himself before he turned towards the greenhouse door and opened it. He quickly slid inside as to not interrupt the class.

Professor Sprout was standing behind a trestle bench in the center of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different-colored earmuffs were lying on the bench. When Harry had taken his place between Ron and Hermione, she began the lesson.

“We’ll be repotting Mandrakes today.” Professor Sprout said, “Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?”

To nobody’s surprise, Hermione’s hand was first into the air.

“Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative,” said Hermione, sounding as usual as though she had swallowed the textbook, “It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state.”

“Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor,” said Professor Sprout, “The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?”

Hermione’s hand narrowly missed Harry’s glasses as it shot up again.

“The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it,” she said promptly.

“Precisely. Take another ten points,” said Professor Sprout, “Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young.”

She pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke, and everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish green in color, were growing there in rows. They looked quite unremarkable to Harry, who didn’t have the slightest idea what Hermione meant by the “cry” of the Mandrake.

“Everyone take a pair of earmuffs,” said Professor Sprout.

There was a scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair that wasn’t pink and fluffy.

“When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are _completely_ covered,” said Professor Sprout, “When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up.”

“Right…” Professor Sprout added when she was satisfied that they were paying attention, “earmuffs _on_.”

Harry snapped the earmuffs over his ears. They shut out sound completely. Professor Sprout put the pink, fluffy pair over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard.

Harry let out a gasp of surprise that no one could hear.

Instead of roots, a small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of his head. He had pale green, mottled skin, and was clearly bawling at the top of his lungs.

Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying him in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands, gave them all the thumbs-up, and removed her own earmuffs.

“As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won’t kill yet,” she said calmly as though she’d just done nothing more exciting than water a begonia, “However, they will knock you out for several hours, and as I’m sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up.”

“Four to a tray…” Professor Sprout continued, “there is a large supply of pots here… compost in the sacks over there… and be careful of the Venomous Tentacula, it’s teething.”

She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant as she spoke, making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her shoulder. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were joined at their tray by a straight-haired Hufflepuff girl Harry had met the day prior.

“Hello Harry,” Piper said with a smile.

“Hello Piper,” Harry returned.

“So,” Hermione asked, “how has your first day at Hogwarts been so far?”

“It’s been good,” Piper replied, “Nothing like my first year at Ilvermorny, but I don’t mind. Change of scenery is always good. Shame we can’t cook our own foods though.”

“You like to cook?” Hermione asked.

“Yes,” Piper nodded, “My mom and I used to spend loads of time in the kitchen together before…”

Piper’s eyes began tearing up at the recent memory of her mother’s death. However, she quickly choked back the sob that threatened to escape her mouth and decided to change the topic.

“I’m sorry,” Piper said, “I didn’t catch your name. What was it?”

“How silly of me,” Hermione smiled, “I forgot my manners. I’m Hermione Granger.”

“Piper Halliwell,” Piper returned.

“Halliwell?!” Hermione gasped, “Not the same Halliwell’s under the Triquetra emblem!”

“The very same,” Piper said impressed, “How’d you know about us?”

“I read about your family in _History of Magic_ ,” Hermione replied, “Before your family lived in America under the name of Halliwell, they came to this school not long after it was founded. They also survived some of the earliest witch trials.”

“That Lockhart’s something, isn’t he?” said Piper happily changing the subject as they began filling their plant pots with dragon dung compost, “Awfully brave guy. Have you read his books? I’d have died of fear if I’d been cornered in a telephone booth by a werewolf, but he stayed cool and… zap… just fantastic.”

Harry and Ron rolled their eyes internally while Hermione nodded in agreement.

“I was supposed to return to Ilvermorny, you know. I can’t tell you how glad I am I came here instead. Of course, Gran was slightly disappointed, but since I made her read Lockhart’s books I think she’s begun to see how useful it’ll be to have three fully trained witches alongside her in the family…”

After that they didn’t have much chance to talk. Their earmuffs were back on and they needed to concentrate on the Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had made it look extremely easy, but it wasn’t. The Mandrakes didn’t like coming out of the earth, but didn’t seem to want to go back into it either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and gnashed their teeth; Harry spent ten whole minutes trying to squash a particularly fat one into a pot. By the end of the class, Harry, like everyone else, was sweaty, aching, and covered in earth. Everyone traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash and then the Gryffindors hurried off to Transfiguration. They were going to be sharing that class with the Ravenclaws today.

Professor McGonagall’s classes were always hard work, but today was especially difficult. Everything Harry had learned last year seemed to have leaked out of his head during the summer. He was supposed to be turning a beetle into a button, but all he managed to do was give his beetle a lot of exercise as it scuttled over the desktop avoiding his wand.

Ron was having far worse problems. He had patched up his wand with some borrowed Spellotape, but it seemed to be damaged beyond repair. It kept crackling and sparking at odd moments, and every time Ron tried to transfigure his beetle it engulfed him in thick gray smoke that smelled of rotten eggs. Unable to see what he was doing, Ron accidentally squashed his beetle with his elbow and had to ask for a new one. Professor McGonagall wasn’t pleased.

Harry was relieved to hear the lunch bell. His brain felt like a wrung sponge. Almost everyone had filed out of the classroom already except him, John, and Ron who was whacking his wand furiously on the desk.

“Stupid…” Ron said angrily, “useless… thing…”

“How the bloody hell did you snap your wand?” John exclaimed as he paused by Harry and Ron’s desk.

“Ask Harry,” Ron grunted.

At that John raised an eyebrow.

“This morning before breakfast, I accidentally dropped my potions bowl while I was making sure I didn’t forget anything back at the Burrow,” Harry explained, “Ron had his wand under his own bowl on a table, but part of it was poking over the edge.”

“Ah,” John said understanding, “bad luck old son.”

“Maybe Vernon confiscating your lucky lighter gave me the bad luck?” Harry frowned thoughtfully.

“Doesn’t work like that mate,” John said shaking his head, “though, it would make sense.”

Suddenly, Ron stopped banging his broken wand against the table and looked at John with a hopeful expression.

“Would you use your unique skills to fix my wand?” Ron asked.

“Flying brooms are one thing…” John frowned as he looked at Ron’s wand, “but wands… those are made with extreme care. I’d have to be a wandmaker to understand how it was made so I could fix your wand. Sorry mate.”

“It’s okay,” Ron said bitterly as he went back to banging it against the desk.

“Write home for another one,” Harry suggested as the wand let off a volley of bangs like a firecracker.

“Oh, yeah, and get a Howler back,” said Ron, stuffing the now hissing wand into his bag, “‘It’s your own fault your wand got snapped…’”

They went down to lunch, where Ron’s mood was not improved by Hermione and John showing each other the handful of perfect coat buttons they had produced in Transfiguration.

“What’ve we got this afternoon?” said Harry, hastily changing the subject.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” said Hermione at once.

“That reminds me,” John said getting up from the Gryffindor table, “Neville wanted to talk to me, and I completely forgot. Where is he?”

“Sitting over by Dean and Seamus,” Harry nodded over towards Neville while keeping an eye on Ron who looked like he was about to blurt something out.

“Right,” John nodded, “See you later.”

“Yeh,” Harry replied.

“Why,” demanded Ron suddenly, seizing her schedule, “have you outlined all Lockhart’s lessons in little hearts?”

John glanced back over his shoulder once to see Hermione snatch the schedule back, blushing furiously.

“Hi John,” said a familiar female voice from nearby. He looked towards where it came from and saw Prue there slowly putting a grape into her mouth.

“What do you want?” John asked ruder than he intended.

Prue glared at him cause of his rudeness and turned to look away without saying a word. John rolled his eyes about women and their confusing actions before resuming his path towards Neville. When he reached Neville, he could see that the boy wasn’t eating. He was just absentmindedly stirring his food.

“Longbottom,” John said startling Neville, “you wanted to talk?”

“Oh yeah,” Neville said turning to look at him, “but in private.”

“In that case,” John said, “wait for me in the Gryffindor common room later tonight. Probably the only time we’ll have to chat.”

At that, John headed over to the Ravenclaw table in order to eat lunch.

**Later, with Harry…**

They finished lunch and went outside into the overcast courtyard. Hermione sat down on a stone step and buried her nose in _Voyages with Vampires_ again. Harry and Ron stood talking about Quidditch for several minutes before Harry became aware that he was being closely watched. Looking up, he saw the very small, mousy-haired boy he’d seen trying on the Sorting Hat last night staring at Harry as though transfixed. He was clutching what looked like an ordinary Muggle camera, and the moment Harry looked at him, he went bright red.

“Alright, Harry? I’m… I’m Colin Creevey,” he said breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward.

“I’m in Gryffindor, too. D’you think… would it be all right if… can I have a picture?” he asked, raising the camera hopefully.

“A picture?” Harry repeated blankly.

“So I can prove I’ve met you,” said Colin Creevey eagerly, edging further forward, “I know all about you. Everyone’s told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you’ve still got a lightning scar on your forehead…” 

He raked his eyes across Harry’s hairline.

“and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures’ll move,” Colin continued. as he and said,

“It’s amazing here, isn’t it?” Colin continued after he drew a great shuddering breath of excitement, “I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad’s a milkman, he couldn’t believe it either. So I’m taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it’d be really good if I had one of you.”

He looked imploringly at Harry.

“Maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?” Colin asked hopeful.

“ _Signed_ _photos_? You’re giving out _signed photos_ , Potter?” said a familiar cold voice.

Draco Malfoy had stopped right behind Colin, flanked, as he always was at Hogwarts, by his large and thuggish cronies, Crabbe and Goyle.

“Everyone line up!” Malfoy roared to the crowd. “Harry Potter’s giving out signed photos!”

“No, I’m not,” said Harry angrily, his fists clenching, “Shut up, Malfoy.”

“You’re just jealous,” piped up Colin, whose entire body was about as thick as Crabbe’s neck.

“Jealous?” said Malfoy, who didn’t need to shout anymore: Half the courtyard was listening in, “Of what? I don’t want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don’t think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself.”

“You should be kinder to your peers,” said Prue from behind Malfoy startling him. Harry, and Ron sniggered at his reaction while Hermione allowed a small smile.

“Shut your mouth you american harlot,” Draco sneered looking at Prue’s more form fitting Hogwarts attire.

Prue narrowed her eyes at that before scrunching her brows. Suddenly, Malfoy went flying backwards through the courtyard before falling to the ground and rolling to a stop.

“Don’t ever call me a harlot again,” Prue said sternly, “or I’ll do more than send you flying across the courtyard. Do you understand me you foul-mouthed jerk?”

Malfoy stood back up indignantly and pulled out his wand with a snarl, but before he could cast a spell Ron aimed his broken wand at Draco.

“Eat slugs malfoy!” Ron said angrily, but to his shock he went flying back through the air himself as the curse he unintentionally did backfired.

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered stupidly while Draco burst out with an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

“What’s all this, what’s all this?” asked Gilderoy Lockhart as he strode towards them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. “Who’s giving out signed photos?”

Harry started to speak but he was cut short as Lockhart flung an arm around his shoulders and thundered jovially, “Shouldn’t have asked! We meet again, Harry!”

Pinned to Lockhart’s side and burning with humiliation, Harry saw Malfoy slide smirking back into the crowd.

“Come on then, Mr. Creevey,” said Lockhart, beaming at Colin, “A double portrait, can’t do better than that, and we’ll both sign it for you.”

Colin fumbled for his camera and took the picture as the bell rang behind them, signaling the start of afternoon classes.

“Off you go, move along there,” Lockhart called to the crowd, and he set off back to the castle with Harry, who was wishing he knew a good Vanishing Spell, still clasped to his side.

“A word to the wise, Harry,” said Lockhart paternally as they entered the building through a side door, “I covered up for you back there with young Creevey… if he was photographing me, too, your schoolmates won’t think you’re setting yourself up so much…”

Deaf to Harry’s stammers, Lockhart swept him down a corridor lined with staring students and up a staircase.

“Let me just say that handing out signed pictures at this stage of your career isn’t sensible…” Lockhart said, “looks a tad bigheaded, Harry, to be frank. There may well come a time when, like me, you’ll need to keep a stack handy wherever you go, but…”

“I don’t think you’re quite there yet,” Gilderoy chortled.

They had reached Lockhart’s classroom and he let Harry go at last. Harry yanked his robes straight and headed for a seat at the very back of the class, where he busied himself with piling all seven of Lockhart’s books in front of him, so that he could avoid looking at the real thing.

The rest of the class came clattering in, and John and Hermione sat down on either side of Harry. John was looking sour because the Auror hadn’t come to take him to Monsieur Delacour’s room in the French Embassy.

“Where’s Ron?” Harry asked.

“Professor McGonagall took him to Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione said with a sigh, “I swear. One day, he’ll end up getting himself killed with those antics of his.”

When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville Longbottom’s copy of _Travels with Trolls_ , and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front. However, before he could begin talking, which he likes doing, someone appeared at the door.

“Excuse me Gilderoy,” Dumbledore said with hidden loathing in his voice, “but might I borrow John for the duration of your class today?”

“Of course Headmaster,” Lockhart said grinning, secretly unhappy that Dumbledore stopped him from boasting about himself, “Whenever you need him, he’s yours.”

John let out an audible sigh of relief and smirked as he got up from his seat.

“Where are you going?” Harry asked jealous.

“Tell you later,” John said as he headed to Dumbledore.

As soon as both Dumbledore and John left the room Gilderoy looked back at the class to begin his egotistical speech.

“Me,” he said, pointing at it and winking as well, “Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award… but I don’t talk about that. I didn’t get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!”

He waited for them to laugh; a few people smiled weakly.

“I see you’ve all bought a complete set of my books…” Gilderoy said, “well done. I thought we’d start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about… just to check how well you’ve read them, how much you’ve taken in…”

When he had handed out the test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, “You have thirty minutes… start… now!”

Harry looked down at his paper and read:

  1. _What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favorite color?_
  2. _What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s secret ambition?_
  3. _What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart’s_ greatest achievement to date?



On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to:

  1. _When is Gilderoy Lockhart’s birthday, and what_ _  
_ _would his ideal gift be?_



If this was an anime, a teardrop would be visible on his face or back of his head.

**With John…**

Dumbledore and John slowly but surely made their way through the castle in silence till Dumbledore decided to break it.

“I’m rather quite proud of you John,” Dumbledore said smiling.

“What for?” John asked not really caring.

“You’ve been saving people’s lives with everything you know during the summer,” Dumbledore replied, “and you’ve taken a request from a French family as well. You’re moving up in the world as the saying goes.”

John just grunted in response as he had nothing to say in response, and they both stayed silent throughout the rest of the trip through the castle. Eventually, they reached Dumbledore’s office. Or rather, the magical stairway that led to his office.

“Sherbert Lemon,” Dumbledore said to the gargoyle standing guard. It proceeded to jump out of the way to allow Dumbledore and John onto the stairway which immediately began growing till it stopped at the landing which had Dumbledore’s door on it. Dumbledore’s office had bookshelves, a wine cupboard, and a desk in the center. On one of the shelves was the sorting hat, and hanging on the wall was a sword. For some reason, John couldn’t take his eye off it. It was as if the sword was calling to him.

“That is the sword of Gryffindor,” Albus said looking at what John was looking at, “It was forged by the goblins for Godric Gryffindor himself. It’s said that the sword will appear to whoever is the most loyal and the most brave. Especially, in times of need.”

However, John wasn’t even listening as he walked towards the sword. Once he reached it, he slowly raised his hand to grab it. However, before he could a crack could be heard behind him. Suddenly, the fog covering everything except the sword lifted and he turned to see who had arrived. The new person had a fake eye held in by a strap, scars on his face, and a fake leg. He also held a staff in his hand and wore a trench coat over some brown apparel. This was Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody.

“Sorry I’m late Albus,” Mad-eye grunted while looking at Dumbledore, “I was in the middle of dealing with an Acromantula the size of the Pentagon in America. Not very friendly creatures, and very hard to take down… especially when they’re that size.”

“It’s alright Alastor,” Albus said waving the apology aside, “Given your line of work, I’m surprised you even had the time.”

“Now who am I supposed to apparate to the French embassy?” Moody asked gruffly.

“This is John Constantine,” Albus said gesturing to John, "and he’s been hired to perform an exorcism.”

“Constantine,..” Alastor muttered, “Why does that name sound familiar?”

“He is the son of Lucinda and Russell Constantine,” Albus said.

Alastor regarded Constantine and eventually held out his hand which John slowly grasped.

“I knew your mother,” Alastor said, “Good witch and good woman. Shame she died the way she did, but at least it was a bit more natural than turning into a ball of goop.”

John raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t say anything in response as he had no idea what to think of the grizzled Auror. Alastor wasn’t one to waste time, so he immediately apparated them away from Hogwarts to Monsieur Delacour’s room.

“Good luck John,” Albus said quietly.

**Back with Harry…**

Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class.

“Tut, tut…” Gilderoy said disappointed, “hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in _Year with the Yeti_. And a few of you need to  
read _Wanderings with Werewolves_ more carefully… I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples… though I wouldn’t say no to a large bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky!”

He gave them another roguish wink. Ron was now staring at Lockhart with an expression of disbelief on his face; Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were sitting in front, were shaking with silent laughter. Hermione, on the other hand, was listening to Lockhart with rapt attention and gave a start when he mentioned her name.

“But Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions… good girl! In fact…”

“Full marks!” Gilderoy said as he flipped her paper over, “Where is Miss Hermione Granger?”

Hermione raised a trembling hand.

“Excellent!” beamed Lockhart, “Quite excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor! And so… to business…”

He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.

“Now… be warned!” Gilderoy said, “It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm.”

In spite of himself, Harry leaned around his pile of books for a better look at the cage. Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Dean and Seamus had stopped laughing now. Neville was cowering in his front row seat.

“I must ask you not to scream,” said Lockhart in a low voice. “It might provoke them.”

As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.

“Cornish pixies?!’ Seamus laughed in disbelief.

“Yes,” he said dramatically. “Freshly caught _Cornish pixies_.”

Seamus Finnigan couldn’t control himself. He let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart couldn’t mistake for a scream of terror.

“Yes?” He smiled at Seamus.

“Well, they’re not… they’re not very… dangerous, are they?” Seamus choked.

“Don’t be so sure!” said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus, “Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!”

The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

“Right, then,” Lockhart said loudly as he opened the cage, “Let’s see what you make of them!”

It was pandemonium.The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Two of them seized Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air. Several shot straight through the window, showering the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino. They grabbed ink bottles and sprayed the class with them, shredded books and papers, tore pictures from the walls, up-ended the waste basket, grabbed bags and books and threw them out of the smashed window; within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks and Neville was swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling.

“Come on now… round them up, round them up, they’re only pixies,” Lockhart shouted.

He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand, and bellowed, “ _Peskipiksi Pesternomi!_ ”

It had absolutely no effect; one of the pixies seized his wand and threw it out of the window, too. Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Neville, who fell a second later as the chandelier gave way.

The bell rang and there was a mad rush toward the exit. In the relative calm that followed, Lockhart straightened up, caught sight of Harry and Hermione, who were almost at the door, and spoke up.

“Well, I’ll ask you two to just nip the rest of them back into their cage,” He swept past them and shut the door quickly behind him.

“Can you believe him?” roared Harry as one of the remaining pixies bit him painfully on the ear.

“He just wants to give us some hands-on experience,” defended Hermione, immobilizing two pixies at once with a clever Freezing Charm and stuffing them back into their cage.

“Hands on?” said Harry, who was trying to grab another pixie dancing out of reach with its tongue out, “Hermione, he didn’t have a clue what he was doing…”

“Rubbish,” said Hermione. “You’ve read his books… look at all those amazing things he’s done…”

“He says he’s done,” Harry muttered.


	5. Mudbloods and Exorcism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finally meets Monsieur Delacour and exorcises the demon from Fleur. Ron's curse backfires. A new deadly power of John's is revealed.

Chapter 5: Mudbloods and an Exorcism

John and Alastor Moody finally arrived at Monsieur Delacour’s room in the French Embassy. Even though Alastor Moody was an Auror he wasn’t allowed in without escort or the permission from one of the people staying at the Embassy. Fortunately, Monsieur Delacour had spotted them when he was on his way back from wherever he was. He had convinced the Embassy staff to let Alastor and John in, but even that took around ten minutes of doing so.

“Bienvenue to my room Monsieur Moody and Monsieur Constantine,” Monsieur Delacour said with a French accent as he opened the door to his room with a room key. The interior of the room was ginormous. It was as big as Hogwarts’ courtyard and this was only the living room. Monsieur Delacour must have cast an enchantment to make the room bigger. One could only hope such an enchantment could be undone before a French Muggle diplomat was given the room to stay at the Embassy if desired. There were a few couches surrounding a glass coffee table, and there was a fireplace with an actual fire roaring keeping the room cool letting off light.

“Now then,” John said turning to Monsieur Delacour, “Where might I find your daughter?”

“Straight to business then,” Monsieur Delacour nodded, “If you’ll follow me Monsieur Constantine and Monsieur Moody.”

He then led John and Alastor through the room’s hallways till they reached a room with a piece of paper hanging on the door. It had a name on it which was **Fleur Delacour** . Surrounding the name were fireworks constantly going off without any noises. As soon as Monsieur Delacour opened the door, he led them to Fleur’s bed where she lay. John didn’t pay attention to her room’s look as his eyes were only staring at Fleur. Like with Godric Gryffindor’s sword, John could only see her. Unlike before, instead of a fog everything was blurred. Not literally, but figuratively. Fleur was incredibly beautiful even if she hadn’t become a teen as of yet. Her hair was a silvery-blonde which was enchanting to John. However, he quickly looked away and towards the two adults.

“I’m going to be needing some quiet now,” John said, “and don’t interrupt me no matter what.”

He turned back to Fleur, but this time he was focused on the task at hand. He walked over to her bed, and touched her forehead. However, he quickly brought his hand away due to how hot it was.

“Blimey,” John muttered, “she’s like a freshly made sword just out of the forge.”

He then pulled out a strange looking stone ring and looked through it, but he couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. That caused him to frown.

“Not a lower class demon then…” John muttered. He then frowned even further as he realized that the only way to determine what was possessing her was to use his muggle-magic.

“Do either of you have a dream-catcher?” John asked without looking away from Fleur.

“Non,” Monsier Delacour said while Moody grunted a “no”.

“Bugger,” John muttered, “Guess I’m going to have to be extra careful then.”

He formed a mystical circle with his hands similar to how Doctor Strange does things. Monsieur Delacour widened his eyes at that while Alastor only widened one eye. John proceeded to place his left hand over Fleur’s eyes and grabbed one of her hands with his right.

“Show yourself child of hell,” John said with his eyes rolled up while slightly closing his eyes, “ Adiuro te ut non parere! Let me see you for what you are! Ipsum est nomen satanas revelare!”

As soon as he was done with the spell, he stepped back in order to watch. Fortunately, it worked. Unfortunately, the result was terrifying. Fleur’s eyes opened, but to everyone’s shock the eyes had become pure black. She then sat up and stared at them each, but lingering on John more.

“How dare you tear my from my task John Constantine!” Fleur said with a demonic male voice.

John widened his eyes in shock that the demon knew who he was. That caused the demon to smirk evilly.

“Oh yes,” the demon sneered, “I know who you are. We all do, and we can’t wait till the end of the human world comes! You will be the sacrificial lamb that shall break the final seal, and the gates of Hell shall opened!”

“Shut your gob or I’ll shut it for you!!” John yelled angrily.

“No,” the demon said evilly, “I think I’ll keep talking till you kill yourself in order to escape my voice.”

“Whatever you are,” Monsieur Delacour said angrily but shakily, “get out of my daughter!”

“You have no power here Alexandre,” the demon sneered, “I am the one in control!”

“Release the girl,” Moody growled as he pulled out his wand, “or I’ll make you.”

“The only way to release me old man,” the demon sneered at Moody, “is to kill me, but you won’t do that, will you?”

When Moody didn’t do anything the demon cackled in victory. However, John wasn’t having any of it.

“Tell me your name!” John yelled stopping the demon’s cackle.

“Okay,” the demon laughed, “My name is… go fuck yourself.”

John frowned at that before he pulled out a vial of some sort of liquid and opened it. That shut the demon up believing it to be Holy Water. The demon happened to be right about that. John slashed the vial through the air allowing the water to splash onto the demon’s face. The demon cried out in pain as it burned.

“Don’t worry,” John assured Monsieur Delacour, “It’s Holy Water. It only harms demons.”

“I’m going to rip your throat out Constantine,” the demon snarled as its nails grew longer forming into long talons.

“Exorcizamus te,” John chanted while glaring at the demon, “omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo, omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te…”

The demon suddenly sprang from the bed towards John, but Moody quickly used a spell to tie the demon down onto the bed.

“cessa decipere humanas creaturas,” John continued chanting, “eisque æternæ perditionìs venenum propinare…”

“I will rise from the depths of Hell and make you suffer unimaginable pain!” the demon yelled angrily.

“Vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciæ, hostis humanæ salutis…” John continued chanting as he ignored the demon.

The demon roared in pain and did its best to rip free of the magical bindings Moody used on it.

“Humiliare sub potenti manu Dei; contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine…” John chanted as wind picked up and the room shuddered. That was really odd as wind doesn’t exactly occur indoors except when using a fan.

“quem inferi tremunt…” John continued as Fleur’s body writhed and twitched while blood began leaking from her eyes, ears, and mouth.

“Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine…” John faltered when he saw the blood and a piece inside of him soured. If he kept up the spell, there was a chance the demon might kill Fleur as it heads to hell.

“What is happening?!” Monsieur Delacour exclaimed as he too saw the blood, “Why is she bleeding?!”

“The demon intends to kill her right before it goes back to Hell,” John explained.

“Can you stop it?” Monsieur Delacour asked.

“The only thing I can do is finish the exorcism,” John replied grimly, “If I don’t… the demon will regain its hold on her body. At which point, it’ll for sure tear her soul to ribbons before killing all of us.”

“Then…” Monsieur Delacour said sadly, “do what you have to.”

John nodded once before he strengthened his resolve and glared at the demon.

“Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire,” John finished chanting, “te rogamus, audi nos!”

With that, the demon cried out as it left Fleur’s body. They watched as black smoke exited her mouth before heading down towards the floor where it vanished. Fleur’s eyes returned to normal, and her body went limp. John then took a step forward and placed his hand on her forehead. Compared to earlier, her temperature was cool to the touch. He then checked for a pulse at her neck, and after a second he felt one.

“It’s done,” John said as he took a step back, “and she’s alive. All that needs to be done now is to heal whatever the damage did to her. Which is not my area of expertise.”

“Thank you,” Monsieur Delacour said genuinely, “Thank you so much Monsieur Constantine, and you as well Monsieur Moody.”

Moody just grunted in response.

“There has to be some way I can repay you Monsieur Constantine,” Monsieur Delacour said.

This was the first time John was tempted to ask for something in return, but he wouldn’t dare be greedy. He has no desire to become anymore like the Malfoys than he already is.

“No,” John said, “I don’t want any money, and it’s way too soon to be thinking about marriage. Besides forcing her to be with someone she doesn’t even like immensely… is way too controlling.”

Monsieur Delacour regarded John for a few minutes before he smiled and held out his hand.

“I do believe that ma fille would like you very much,” Monsieur Delacour said, “You are very honorable Monsieur Constantine. You are welcome at our home in France any time.”

“Well then,” John said taking the man’s hand, “I suppose I could come by to check her out-I mean- check on her to see if she’s still demon free. Right now, I have to get back to Hogwarts.”

At that, John and Alastor Moody left Monsieur Delacour’s room by walking through the Embassy as to not cause suspicion. If they had apparated, their trustworthiness would be under scrutiny by the French Embassy.

**A few days later, with Harry…**

Harry spent a lot of time over the next few days dodging out of sight whenever he saw Gilderoy Lockhart coming down a corridor. Harder to avoid was Colin Creevey, who seemed to have memorized Harry’s schedule. Nothing seemed to give Colin a bigger thrill than to say, “All right, Harry?” six or seven times a day and hear, “Hello, Colin,” back, however exasperated Harry sounded when he said it.

Ron had been released from the infirmary by Madam Pomfrey the day after the “eat slug” incident. Speaking of Ron, his wand was still malfunctioning, surpassing itself on Friday morning by shooting out of Ron’s hand in Charms and hitting tiny old Professor Flitwick squarely between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil where it had struck. So with one thing and another, Harry was quite glad to reach the weekend. He, Ron, and Hermione were planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning. Harry, however, was shaken awake several hours earlier than he would have liked by Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

“Whassamatter?” asked Harry groggily.

“Quidditch practice!” said Wood impatiently, “Come on!”

Harry squinted at the window. There was a thin mist hanging across the pink-and-gold sky. Now that he was awake, he couldn’t understand how he could have slept through the racket the birds were making.

“Oliver,” Harry croaked, “It’s the crack of dawn.”

“Exactly,” said Wood. He was a tall and burly sixth year and, at the moment, his eyes were gleaming with a crazed enthusiasm.

“It’s part of our new training program. Come on, grab your broom, and let’s go,” said Wood heartily, “None of the other teams have started training yet; we’re going to be first off the mark this year…”

Yawning and shivering slightly, Harry climbed out of bed and tried to find his Quidditch robes.

“Good man,” said Wood, “Meet you on the field in fifteen minutes.”

When he’d found his scarlet team robes and pulled on his cloak for warmth, Harry scribbled a note to Ron explaining where he’d gone and went down the spiral staircase to the common room, his Nimbus Two Thousand on his shoulder. He had just reached the portrait hole when there was a clatter behind him and Colin Creevey came dashing down the spiral staircase, his camera swinging madly around his neck and something clutched in his hand.

“I heard someone saying your name on the stairs, Harry!” Colin said excitedly, “Look what I’ve got here! I’ve had it developed, I wanted to show you…”

Harry looked bemusedly at the photograph Colin was brandishing under his nose.

A moving, black-and-white Lockhart was tugging hard on an arm Harry recognized as his own. He was pleased to see that his photographic self was putting up a good fight and refusing to be dragged into view. As Harry watched, Lockhart gave up and slumped, panting, against the white edge of the picture.

“Will you sign it?” asked Colin eagerly.

“No,” said Harry flatly, glancing around to check that the room was really deserted, “Sorry, Colin, I’m in a hurry… Quidditch practice…”

He climbed through the portrait hole.

“Oh, wow!” Colin said excitedly, “Wait for me! I’ve never watched a Quidditch game before!”

Colin scrambled through the hole after him.

“It’ll be really boring,” Harry said quickly, but Colin ignored him, his face shining with excitement.

“You were the youngest House player in a hundred years, weren’t you, Harry? Weren’t you?” rambled Colin, trotting alongside him, “You must be brilliant. I’ve never flown. Is it easy? Is that your own broom? Is that the best one there is?”

Harry didn’t know how to get rid of him. It was like having an extremely talkative shadow.

“I don’t really understand Quidditch,” rambled Colin breathlessly, “Is it true there are four balls? And two of them fly around trying to knock people off their brooms?”

“Yes,” said Harry heavily, resigned to explaining the complicated rules of Quidditch. “They’re called Bludgers. There are two Beaters on each team who carry clubs to beat the Bludgers away from their side. Fred and George Weasley are the Gryffindor Beaters.”

“And what are the other balls for?” Colin asked, tripping down a couple of steps because he was gazing open-mouthed at Harry.

“Well, the Quaffle…” Harry continued explaining, “that’s the biggish red one… is the one that scores goals. Three Chasers on each team throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through the goal posts at the end of the pitch… they’re three long poles with hoops on the end.”

“And the fourth ball?” Colin asked.

“That is the Golden Snitch,” said Harry, “and it’s very small, very fast, and difficult to catch. But that’s what the Seeker’s got to do, because a game of Quidditch doesn’t end until the Snitch has been caught. And whichever team’s Seeker gets the Snitch earns his team an extra hundred and fifty points.”

“And you’re the Gryffindor Seeker, aren’t you?” asked Colin in awe.

“Yes,” said Harry as they left the castle and started across the dew-drenched grass, “And there’s the Keeper, too. He guards the goal posts. That’s it, really.”

Unfortunately, Colin didn’t stop questioning Harry all the way down the sloping lawns to the Quidditch field, and Harry only shook him off when he reached the changing rooms; Colin called after him in a piping voice, “I’ll go and get a good seat, Harry!” and hurried off to the stands.

The rest of the Gryffindor team were already in the changing room. Wood was the only person who looked truly awake. Fred and George Weasley were sitting, puffy-eyed and tousle-haired, next to fourth year Alicia Spinnet, who seemed to be nodding off against the wall behind her. Her fellow Chasers, Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson, were yawning side by side opposite them.

“There you are, Harry, what kept you?” said Wood briskly, “Now, I wanted a quick talk with you all before we actually get onto the field, because I spent the summer devising a whole new training program, which I really think will make all the difference…”

Wood was holding up a large diagram of a Quidditch field, on which were drawn many lines, arrows, and crosses in different-colored inks. He took out his wand, tapped the board, and the arrows began to wiggle over the diagram like caterpillars. As Wood launched into a speech about his new tactics, Fred Weasley’s head drooped right onto Alicia Spinnet’s shoulder and he began to snore.

The first board took nearly twenty minutes to explain, but there was another board under that, and a third under that one. Harry sank into a stupor as Wood droned on and on.

“So,” said Wood, at long last, jerking Harry from a wistful fantasy about what he could be eating for breakfast at this very moment up at the castle. “Is that clear? Any questions?”

“I’ve got a question, Oliver,” said George, who had woken with a start, “Why couldn’t you have told us all this yesterday when we were awake?”

Wood wasn’t pleased.

“Now, listen here, you lot,” he said, glowering at them all, “We should have won the Quidditch Cup last year. We’re easily the best team. But unfortunately… owing to circumstances beyond our control…”

Harry shifted guiltily in his seat. He had been unconscious in the hospital wing for the final match of the previous year, meaning that Gryffindor had been a player short and had suffered their worst defeat in three hundred years.

Wood took a moment to regain control of himself. Their last defeat was clearly still torturing him.

“So this year, we train harder than ever before… Okay, let’s go and put our new theories into practice!” Wood shouted, seizing his broomstick and leading the way out of the locker rooms. Stiff-legged and still yawning, his team followed.

They had been in the locker room so long that the sun was up completely now, although remnants of mist hung over the grass in the stadium. As Harry walked onto the field, he saw Ron, Hermione, and John sitting in the stands.

“Aren’t you finished yet?” called Ron incredulously.

“Haven’t even started,” said Harry, looking jealously at the toast and marmalade Ron and Hermione had brought out of the Great Hall, “Wood’s been teaching us new moves.”

He mounted his broomstick and kicked at the ground, soaring up into the air. The cool morning air whipped his face, waking him far more effectively than Wood’s long talk. It felt wonderful to be back on the Quidditch field. He soared right around the stadium at full speed, racing Fred and George.

“What’s that funny clicking noise?” called Fred as they hurtled around the corner.

Harry looked into the stands. Colin was sitting in one of the highest seats, his camera raised, taking picture after picture, the sound strangely magnified in the deserted stadium.

“Look this way, Harry! This way!” he cried shrilly.

“Who’s that?” asked Fred.

“No idea,” Harry lied, putting on a spurt of speed that took him as far away as possible from Colin.

“What’s going on?” said Wood, frowning, as he skimmed through the air toward them, “Why’s that first year taking pictures? I don’t like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training program.”

“He’s in Gryffindor,” said Harry quickly.

“And the Slytherins don’t need a spy, Oliver,” said George.

“Because they’re here in person,” said George, pointing.

Several people in green robes were walking onto the field, broomsticks in their hands.

“I don’t believe it!” Wood hissed in outrage, “I booked the field for today! We’ll see about this!”

Wood shot toward the ground, landing rather harder than he meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted. Harry, Fred, and George followed.

“Flint!” Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain, “This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!”

Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood. He had a look of trollish cunning on his face as he replied, “Plenty of room for all of us, Wood.”

Angelina, Alicia, and Katie had come over, too. There were no girls on the Slytherin team, who stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the Gryffindors, leering to a man.

“But I booked the field!” said Wood, positively spitting with rage. “I booked it!”

“Ah,” said Flint, “But I’ve got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. _‘I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker.’_ ”

“You’ve got a new Seeker?” said Wood, distracted, “Where?”

And from behind the six large figures before them came a seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face. It was Draco Malfoy.

“Aren’t you Lucius Malfoy’s son?” said Fred, looking at Malfoy with dislike.

“Funny you should mention Draco’s father,” said Flint as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly, “Let me show you the generous gift he’s made to the Slytherin team.”

All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words _Nimbus Two Thousand and One_ gleamed under the Gryffindors’ noses in the early morning sun.

“Very latest model. Only came out last month,” said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own, “I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps…”

“Sweeps the board with them,” Flint finished as he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives.

None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say for a moment. Malfoy was smirking so broadly his cold eyes were reduced to slits.

“Oh, look,” said Flint, “A field invasion.”

Ron, Hermione, and John were crossing the grass to see what was going on.

“What’s happening?” Ron asked Harry, “Why aren’t you playing? And what’s _he_ doing here?”

“Use your brain Ron,” John said glaring at Draco who returned the glare, “he’s the new Slytherin seeker.”

“My traitor of a cousin is right,” said Malfoy, smugly, “Everyone’s just been admiring the brooms my father’s bought our team.”

Ron gaped, openmouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him.

“Good, aren’t they?” said Malfoy smoothly, “But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them.”

The Slytherin team howled with laughter.

“At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in,” said Hermione sharply. “They got in on pure talent.”

The smug look on Malfoy’s face flickered.

“No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood,” he spat.

Harry knew at once that Malfoy had said something really bad because there was an instant uproar at his words. Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George jumping on him. 

“How dare you!” Alicia shrieked.

Ron plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling, “You’ll pay for that one, Malfoy!”

However, John beat him to the punch. Literally. Instead of magic, John elected to go for good ol’ fist-to-cuffs. He delivered a strong right hook into Malfoy’s face which knocked him back. John proceeded to tackle Draco and began pummeling him. Draco was definitely not used to nfist fights, so he had no idea what to do. All Draco could do was hold his arms up to ward off the attacks. However, John was able to get passed Draco’s arms as he grabbed Draco by the neck and squeezed.

“John!” Hermione gasped horrified as Draco’s face began getting purple. Noticing this, Harry and Ron tried to pull John off. However, before they could touch him John began combusting. Strangely enough, John and his clothing weren’t being affected by the flames.

Suddenly, John was sent flying back away from Draco by some unknown force. As soon as he hit the ground, he fell unconscious and the flames vanished. Harry and Ron looked to see the one responsible and saw Prue standing walking towards them.

“What is going on here?” Prue asked with a stern expression. However, none of them knew precisely what was going on except for the stuff prior to John’s sudden combustion.

The Slytherin and Gryffindor teams were paralyzed with shock at what they had seen. Flint was doubled over in pain as the Weasley Twins had kicked him in the balls in unison. Flint had to hang onto his new broomstick for support. Malfoy was   
Slowly pushing himself into a sitting position now that his breath had been restored to him. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were gathered around John’s unconscious form. They were nervous, but that wasn’t going to stop them from helping their friend. Even Prue was helping as she had a crush on John that she wouldn’t admit to having.

“We’d better get him to Hagrid’s, it’s nearest,” said Harry to the other three, who all nodded bravely, and the trio pulled John up by the arms.

“What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can’t you?” Colin had run down from his seat and was now dancing alongside them as they left the field.

“Get out of the way, Colin!” snapped Harry angrily. The trio carried John out of the stadium and across the grounds toward the edge of the forest.

They were within twenty feet of Hagrid’s house when the front door opened, but it wasn’t Hagrid who emerged. Gilderoy Lockhart, wearing robes of palest mauve today, came striding out.

“Quick, behind here,” Harry hissed, dragging John behind a nearby bush with the help of ron. Hermione and Prue followed, somewhat reluctantly.

“It’s a simple matter if you know what you’re doing!” Lockhart was saying loudly to Hagrid, “If you need help, you know where I am! I’ll let you have a copy of my book. I’m surprised you haven’t already got one… I’ll sign one tonight and send it over. Well, good-bye!” And he strode away toward the castle.

Harry and Ron waited until Lockhart was out of sight, then pulled John out of the bush and up to Hagrid’s front door. They knocked urgently. Hagrid appeared at once, looking very grumpy, but his expression brightened when he saw who it was.

“Bin wonderin’ when you’d come ter see me…” Hagrid said happily, “come in, come in… thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again…”

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Prue supported John over the threshold into the one-roomed cabin, which had an enormous bed in one corner, a fire crackling merrily in the other. Hagrid didn’t seem perturbed by John being unconscious, which Harry hastily explained as he lowered John into a chair.

“So he caught fire?” Hagrid asked trying to comprehend, “but he don’ look crispy…”

“That’s what freaks us out,” Hermione admitted from her chair which was as far from John as possible.

“Ain’t never heard of summit like this before,” Hagrid admitted as he stared at John, “but yeh don’ have tah fear ‘im. He’s still yer friend righ’?”

“Yes,” Harry and Prue said immediately. The other two were a bit more reluctant though.

Hagrid was bustling around making them tea. His boarhound, Fang, was slobbering over Harry.

“Good thing yah stopped ‘im Prue,” Hagrid said, “If he killed anyone, John’d be in big trouble with the Ministry. Never mind the school.”

“What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?” Harry asked changing the subject, scratching Fang’s ears.

“Givin’me advice on gettin’ kelpies out of a well,” growled Hagrid, moving a half-plucked rooster off his scrubbed table and setting down the teapot, “Like I don’ know. An’ bangin’ on about some banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I’ll eat my kettle.”

It was most unlike Hagrid to criticize a Hogwarts teacher, and Harry looked at him in surprise. Hermione, however, said in a voice somewhat higher than usual, “I think you’re being a bit unfair. Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job…”

“He was the on’y man for the job,” said Hagrid, offering them a plate of treacle toffee, while John remained unconscious, “An’ I mean the on’y one. Gettin’ very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job. People aren’t too keen ter take it on, see. They’re startin’ ter think it’s jinxed. No one’s lasted long fer a while now.”

“So tell me,” said Hagrid, jerking his head at John. “Who was he tryin’ ter kill?”

“Malfoy called Hermione something…” Harry said confused about why everyone, especially John, acted the way they did, “it must’ve been really bad, because everyone went wild.”

“It was bad,” said Ron angrily, “Malfoy called her ‘Mudblood,’ Hagrid…”

Ron trailed off so he could force himself to calm down. Hagrid however, was outraged.

“He didn’!” he growled at Hermione.

“He did,” she said as confused as Harry, “But I don’t know what it means. I could tell it was really rude, of course…”

“It’s about the most insulting thing he could think of,” said Prue bitterly. “Mudblood’s a really foul name for someone who is born of two no-mages, There are some wizards… like Malfoy’s family… who think they’re better than everyone else because they’re what people call pure-blood.”

“No-mages?” Hermione asked.

“Non-wizards,” Prue clarified.

“Ah,” Hermione said, “We call them muggles.”

“Anyway, the rest of us know it doesn’t make any difference at all,” Prue finished.

“Exactly,” Ron agreed, “Look at Neville Longbottom... he’s pure-blood and he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way up.”

“An’ they haven’t invented a spell our Hermione can’ do,” said Hagrid proudly, making Hermione go a brilliant shade of magenta.

“It’s a disgusting thing to call someone,” said Ron “Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It’s ridiculous. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn’t married Muggles we’d’ve died out.”

“Americans are still forbidden from doing so by law,” Prue sighed, “It’s probably why we were raised in Paris till she divorced my father.”

“Well, I don’ blame John fer tryin’ ter kill him,” said Hagrid, “Bu’ it was a good thing yeh stopped im’ Prue. ’Spect Lucius Malfoy would’ve demanded that John be put ter death if he had killed his son. He almost killed John in Knockturne alley after all. Here’s to hopin’ that John’ll be given just a warnin’.”

Harry would have pointed out that being rendered unconscious is more than enough punishment for attempted murder. Unfortunately, Hagrid’s treacle toffee had cemented his jaws together.

“Harry,” said Hagrid abruptly as though struck by a sudden thought, “Gotta bone ter pick with yeh. I’ve heard you’ve bin givin’ out signed photos. How come I haven’t got one?”

Furious, Harry wrenched his teeth apart.

“I have not been giving out signed photos,” he said hotly, “If Lockhart’s still spreading that around…”

But then he saw that Hagrid was laughing.

“I’m on’y jokin’,” he said, patting Harry genially on the back and sending him face first into the table, “I knew yeh hadn’t really. I told Lockhart yeh didn’ need teh. Yer more famous than him without tryin’.”

“Bet he didn’t like that,” said Harry, sitting up and rubbing his chin.

“Don’ think he did,” said Hagrid, his eyes twinkling. “An’ then I told him I’d never read one o’ his books an’ he decided ter go.”

“Treacle toffee, anyone?” he added once he realized practically nobody had eaten any.

Everyone except for John, who was still unconscious, shook their heads no.

“Come an’ see what I’ve bin growin’,” said Hagrid as Harry and Hermione finished the last of their tea.

In the small vegetable patch behind Hagrid’s house were a dozen of the largest pumpkins Harry had ever seen. Each was the size of a large boulder.

“Gettin’ on well, aren’t they?” said Hagrid happily, “Fer the Halloween feast… should be big enough by then.”

“What’ve you been feeding them?” asked Harry shocked at how huge they were.

Hagrid looked over his shoulder to check that they were alone.

“Well, I’ve bin givin’ them… you know… a bit o’ help…” Hagrid said quietly.

Harry noticed Hagrid’s flowery pink umbrella leaning against the back wall of the cabin. Harry had had reason to believe before now that this umbrella was not all it appeared; in fact, he had the strong impression that Hagrid’s old school wand was concealed inside it. Hagrid wasn’t supposed to use magic. He had been expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, but Harry had never found out why… any mention of the matter and Hagrid would clear his throat loudly and become mysteriously deaf until the subject was changed.

“An Engorgement Charm, I suppose?” said Hermione, halfway between disapproval and amusement, “Well, you’ve done a good job on them.”

“That’s what yer little sisters said,” said Hagrid, nodding at Ron and Prue, “Met her jus’ yesterday.”

Hagrid looked sideways at Harry, his beard twitching.

“Said she was jus’ lookin’ round the grounds, but I reckon she was hopin’ she might run inter someone else at my house.” He winked at Harry. “If yeh ask me, she wouldn’ say no ter a signed…”

“Oh, shut up,” said Harry. Ron and Prue both snorted with laughter.

“Why is there a bloody dog drooling on me,” exclaimed the voice of John from inside Hagrid’s hut, “and how did I get here?!”

It was nearly lunchtime and as Harry had only had one bit of treacle toffee since dawn, he was keen to go back to school to eat. They said goodbye to Hagrid and walked back up to the castle.

They had barely set foot in the cool entrance hall when a voice rang out, “There you are John! Before you head to the Great Hall, I need to speak with you.”

With a sigh, John headed over to Professor Flitwick who was near the door to the moving stairs.

“I have heard an interesting tale about you,” the short wizard said, “and I’d like to hear it again, but this time from you.”

John realized that Professor Flitwick was talking about the incident on the Quidditch field. With a sigh, he began telling Flitwick of everything he remembered happening which ended at him punching Draco. Everything else, was from what Ron, Harry, and Hermione had told him.

“I honestly can’t believe that I tried to kill my own cousin,” John admitted, “I mean, I hate the little shit but I don’t want him dead. I also can’t believe I combusted and survived it.”

“Hmm,” Flitwick said regarding John, “I had originally intended to give you detention, but till I can determine if your actions post-punching Draco were voluntary or not… consider yourself on notice. To ensure nothing like this ever happens again, you and your cousin will be kept far away.”

“That’s fine with me,” John said. At that, Flitwick allowed John to head to the Great Hall in order to have some lunch. Everyone looked at John as he entered the Great Hall, and it wasn’t a nice expression either. They were afraid. Especially, Draco who was paler than snow itself and obviously trembling as the barbecue sauce on his steak was going every which way and that. John immediately lost his appetite and left the Great Hall to wander around the castle on his own. He eventually ended up in the observatory. Wasn’t his intention of course, but he decided to just stay there and stare over the observatory’s balcony while leaning on the railing.

It felt like a few hours had passed since he saw the terrified expressions of the students in the Great Hall when he heard some steps behind him. However, he just ignored them as he didn’t care who was there at all.

“Give them time,” said the voice of Dumbledore, “They’ll get over their fear of you.”

“For all I know,” John said bitterly, “They’re right to fear me.”

“Both muggles and wizard-kind fear the unknown,” Dumbledore said as he leaned next to John, “however, with the right actions their fear can be replaced with a much kinder emotion. All you have to do is prove you’re not the monster they see you as.”

“How long will that take Professor?” John asked finally turning to look at the Headmaster.

“I don’t know,” Albus admitted, “All I can say for sure, is that it will eventually happen. Whether it be next month or next year, everything will get better. Not as it once was, but better.”

“Any idea how I can combust without dying?” John asked.

“No,” Albus said, “But I’ll do all I can to help you figure it out.”

At that, they just turned to stare out at the grounds of Hogwarts in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Latin --> English  
> 1\. Adiuro te ut non parere --> I demand that you obey  
> 2\. Ipsum est nomen satanas revelare --> Reveal thyself on Satan's name  
> 3\. Exorcizamus te omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo, omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te… --> We exorcise you, every impure spirit, every satanic power, every incursion of the infernal adversary, every legion, every congregation and diabolical sect. Therefore, diabolical legions, we adjure you ...  
> 4\. cessa decipere humanas creaturas eisque æternæ perditionìs venenum propinare… --> Cease to deceive human creatures, and to give to them the poison of eternal damnation; ...  
> 5\. Vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciæ, hostis humanæ salutis… --> Be gone, Satan, inventor and master of all deceit, enemy of man's salvation ...  
> 6\. Humiliare sub potenti manu Dei; contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine… --> Be humble under the mighty hand of God; tremble and flee when we invoke the Holy and Terrible Name  
> 7\. quem inferi tremunt… --> at which those down below tremble ...  
> 8\. Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine --> from the snares of the devil, deliver us, O Lord  
> 9\. Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire,” John finished chanting, “te rogamus, audi nos --> That Thy Church may serve Thee in peace and liberty to serve, we ask Thee, hear us.


	6. The Deathday Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and harry hear the Basilisk speak, but only John wants to investigate further. John, Harry, Ron, and Hermione meet a ghostly Albert Einstein. Geeves the 2nd most irritating poltergeist returns. John obliviates Filch. Phoebe has a premonition. Norris is found petrified.

Chapter 6: The Deathday Party

Saturday afternoon seemed to melt away, and in what seemed like no time, it was five minutes to eight, and Harry hadn’t seen John for a while at all. While he knew John could take care of himself, he was still getting concerned for his friend… even though John had a fiery side to him that terrifies Harry. Harry was currently heading to the Great Hall for supper, but that’s when Ritchie, Phoebe, and Anne appeared. They had concern etched on their faces. Ritchie was now a 4th year, so he wasn’t nearly as terrified by John as the others. He didn’t see John get engulfed, but the story itself made John seem like a monster. However, Ritchie wasn’t one to abandon friends without a good reason.

“Hey, Harry,” Anne and Phoebe said in unison. Ritchie just nodded a hello as he and Harry had never actually met other than when passing each other in the corridors towards classes.

“Hey Anne,” Harry returned, “Hey Phoebe.”

“Have you seen John?” Anne asked worried.

“No,” Harry shook his head, “I haven’t seen him since he skipped lunch.”

“Hello all,” said a familiar voice from nearby. They turned to see Sir Nicholas aka Nearly Headless Nick floating by.

“Hello Sir Nicholas,” Harry replied.

“Have you seen John Sir Nick?” Ritchie asked hoping the ghost would know.

“He was in the Observatory last I saw him,” Sir Nicholas replied, “but he didn’t see me. He was too busy staring over the Hogwarts’ grounds.”

“Thanks Sir Nick,” Anne said graciously.

Sir Nicholas nodded once before continuing his floating path aimlessly through the corridor.

“I’ll go find him,” Harry said, “You three head to the Great Hall. I’m not feeling like having supper anyway tonight.”

Anne and Phoebe looked like they were about to object, but Ritchie spoke up first.

“Thank you Harry,” Ritchie said, “come on girls.”

The girls reluctantly followed Ritchie, but as Phoebe accidentally bumped into Harry’s arm she froze in place. Harry didn’t notice as he was going in a direction away from the Great Hall and towards where he believed the Observatory to be. Neither did Anne or Ritchie.

Phoebe stared blankly as she saw black and white images speed through her mind. She saw Harry and ginny dead on the shore of a pond of some sort. Harry was holding a sword with red gems in the tips of the handguards and in the pommel. She also saw something big dead in the pond and a figure walking away from the bodies. There were also statues of snakes facing each other along a hallway.

“Phoebe!” Anne said realizing Phoebe wasn’t with her and Ritchie. She and Ritchie both hurried back to Phoebe just in time for her to snap back to the present.

“Are you okay?” Ritchie asked concerned kneeling down next to her.

“Oh no…” Phoebe said, “We have to warn them!”

Without explaining, she hurried after Harry who had already left the area. Anne and Ritchie looked at each other worried once before rushing to catch up to Phoebe.

**A lot of minutes later, with Harry…**

Harry was beginning to get annoyed, because he couldn’t figure out how to find the Observatory. Doesn’t help that he hasn’t been up there yet. Eventually, he heard the sound of feet approaching down the next corner. Which is what prompted Harry to see if its a teacher he could ask for help. However, the person he saw wasn’t a teacher. In fact, it was John.

“There you are!” Harry said in relief walking towards John, “Where have you been all day?!”

John was silent for a minute before he sighed deciding to answer Harry.

“I was just wandering around on my own for the second half of the day,” John admitted, “I have only just decided to head down to the Great Hall for supper. If everyone is afraid of me, then I’ll use it to my advantage.”

“Well,” Harry said slowly slightly unnerved by John’s last sentence, “you’ve probably already missed supper.”

John just grunted in response as he had nothing to say. After a while, they began heading back down the hallway in silence. Once they got to the midway point between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw common rooms, they suddenly stopped as they both heard something odd. It was a voice, a voice to chill the bone marrow, a voice of breathtaking, ice-cold venom.

_“Come… come to me… Let me rip you… Let me tear you… Let me kill you…”_

“What?” they both said loudly.

“You heard that too?” they asked each other in unison anime style.

“Yes!” they responded to each other again in anime style.

“Okay,” John said narrowing his eyes, “something is definitely not right with the school tonight.”

“Agreed,” Harry nodded.

“I say we investigate it,” John said.

“I’d rather we head to our dormitories and forget about it,” Harry disagreed now denying what he heard was real, “besides we’re probably just so tired that we’re hearing things.”

Before John could respond, Harry walked off now that he knew where he was. With a grumble, John headed to the Ravenclaw common room as he didn’t really want to investigate that unnerving whisper on his own.

It was so late that the Gryffindor common room was almost empty. Harry went straight up to the dormitory. Harry pulled on his pajamas, got into bed, and just lay there quietly as he kept thinking about what he and John heard that night.

**Later in the year…**

October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Her Pepperup Potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward. Ginny Weasley, who had been looking pale, was bullied into taking some by Percy. The steam pouring from under her vivid hair gave the impression that her whole head was on fire.

Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid’s pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. Oliver Wood’s enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however, was not dampened, which was why Harry was to be found, late one stormy Saturday afternoon a few days before Halloween, returning to Gryffindor Tower, drenched to the skin and splattered with mud. Even aside from the rain and wind it hadn’t been a happy practice session. Fred and George, who had been spying on the Slytherin team, had seen for themselves the speed of those new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. They reported that the Slytherin team was no more than seven greenish blurs, shooting through the air like missiles.

As Harry squelched along the deserted corridor he came across somebody who looked just as preoccupied as he was. Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, was staring morosely out of a window, muttering under his breath, “…don’t fulfill their requirements… half an inch, if that…”

“Hello, Nick,” said Harry.

“Hello, hello,” said Nearly Headless Nick, starting and looking round. He wore a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely severed. He was pale as smoke, and Harry could see right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain outside.

“You look troubled, young Potter,” said Nick, folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it inside his doublet.

“So do you,” said Harry.

“Ah,” Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, “a matter of no importance… It’s not as though I really wanted to join… Thought I’d apply, but apparently I ‘don’t fulfill requirements’…”

In spite of his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face.

“But you would think, wouldn’t you,” he erupted suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, “that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?”

“Oh… yes,” said Harry, who was obviously supposed to agree.

“I mean,” Nick continued, “nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However…”

Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter open and read furiously:

_“‘We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such as Horseback Head Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements. With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore.’ ”_

Fuming, Nearly Headless Nick stuffed the letter away.

“Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, Harry! Most people would think that’s good and beheaded, but oh, no, it’s not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore.”

Nearly Headless Nick took several deep breaths and then said, in a far calmer tone, “So… what’s bothering you? Anything I can do?”

“No,” said Harry, “Not unless you know where we can get seven free Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for our match against Sly…”

The rest of Harry’s sentence was drowned out by a high-pitched mewling from somewhere near his ankles. He looked down and found himself gazing into a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. It was Mrs. Norris, the skeletal gray cat who was used by the caretaker, Argus Filch, as a sort of deputy in his endless battle against students.

“You’d better get out of here, Harry,” said Nick quickly, “Filch isn’t in a good mood… he’s got the flu and some third years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five. He’s been cleaning all morning, and if he sees you dripping mud all over the place…”

“Right,” said Harry, backing away from the accusing stare of Mrs. Norris, but not quickly enough. Drawn to the spot by the mysterious power that seemed to connect him with his foul cat, Argus Filch burst suddenly through a tapestry to Harry’s right, wheezing and looking wildly about for the rule-breaker. There was a thick tartan scarf bound around his head, and his nose was unusually purple.

“Filth!” he shouted, his jowls aquiver, his eyes popping alarmingly as he pointed at the muddy puddle that had dripped from Harry’s Quidditch robes, “Mess and muck everywhere! I’ve had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me, Potter!”

So Harry waved a gloomy good-bye to Nearly Headless Nick and followed Filch back downstairs, doubling the number of muddy footprints on the floor.

Harry had never been inside Filch’s office before; it was a place most students avoided. The room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil lamp dangling from the low ceiling. A faint smell of fried fish lingered about the place. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls; from their labels, Harry could see that they contained details of every pupil Filch had ever punished. Fred and George Weasley had an entire drawer to themselves. A highly polished collection of chains and manacles hung on the wall behind Filch’s desk. It was common knowledge that he was always begging Dumbledore to let him suspend students by their ankles from the ceiling.

Filch grabbed a quill from a pot on his desk and began shuffling around looking for parchment.

“Dung,” he muttered furiously, “great sizzling dragon bogies… frog brains… rat intestines… I’ve had enough of it… make an example… where’s the form … yes…”

He retrieved a large roll of parchment from his desk drawer and stretched it out in front of him, dipping his long black quill into the ink pot.

“ _Name_ … Harry Potter. _Crime_ …” Filch muttered as he wrote on the parchment.

“It was only a bit of mud!” said Harry incredulously.

“It’s only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me it’s an extra hour scrubbing!” shouted Filch, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of his bulbous nose.

“ _Crime_ … befouling the castle… _suggested sentence_ …” Filch muttered as he continued writing. As he dabbed at his streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at Harry, who waited with bated breath for his sentence to fall.

But as Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! and Filch was sent flying away from his desk into his wall. Harry turned to see who had attacked Filch, and saw John standing there with his wand raised.

“You just attacked Filch!” Harry exclaimed shocked.

“Aye,” John said as he gestured with his wand, “now get behind me, unless you want to forget what happened to you in the last few hours.”

Realizing what John was about to do, Harry hurried out of the way till he was standing behind John. Filch on the other hand was getting up onto his feet with an enraged expression.

“I’ll see to it that you’re expelled freak!” Filch snarled as snot dripped from his nose into his mouth and onto the floor.

“I highly doubt that,” John replied dryly.

“Obliviate!” John yelled sending a green flash of light into Filch’s face. As the spell erased enough memory for him to forget about Harry’s transgression John pointed at the parchment Filch was writing on and said, “Accio!”

As soon as the parchment was in John’s hands, he and Harry hurried away from the office. Of course, Mrs. Norris was going to remember everything. However, John had a contingency for that. He had dropped a small item onto the floor which will cause Mrs. Norris to forget hopefully the same stuff Filch was currently getting erased from his mind. That is, if she sniffs it.

“Harry!” Nearly Headless Nick said, “Did John get to you in time?! I mean, in time for him to save you from Filch’s wrath?”

“I’m standing right here you dolt,” John said narrowing his eyes.

“Yes,” Harry replied, “I assume you told him of my predicament?”

John’s eye twitched at the fact that they were talking like he wasn’t there even though he was… It was quite rude. Quite rude indeed.

“Yes,” Nick confirmed, “I felt so bad for holding you up that I-”

“OI!” John shouted getting their attention, “Stop talking as if I’m not here!!!!”

“Oh,” Nick said paling(Is that even possible for a ghost?) as even he had heard the story of John’s fiery temper, “sorry.”

“Sorry,” Harry said also nervous that John will combust again. Fortunately, John didn’t.

They set off up the corridor together. Nearly Headless Nick, Harry noticed, was still holding Sir Patrick’s rejection letter.

“Is there anything I can do for the either of you?” Harry asked looking between the two, “as a thank you for helping me out?”

Nearly Headless Nick stopped in his tracks and Harry walked right through him. He wished he hadn’t; it was like stepping through an icy shower.

There _is_ something you could do for me,” said Nick excitedly, “Harry… would I be asking too much… but no, you wouldn’t want…”

“What is it?” said Harry.

“Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday,” said Nearly Headless Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified.

“Oh,” said Harry, not sure whether he should look sorry or happy about this, “Right.”

“I’m holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons,” Nick explained, “Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honor if you would attend. All of your friends would be most welcome, too, of course… but I daresay you’d rather go to the school feast?”

He watched Harry on tenterhooks.

“No,” said Harry quickly, “I’ll come-”

“I’m not exactly welcome in the Great Hall during mealtime,” John sighed, “so I guess I’ll come as well… but don’t expect me to be all sunshine and rainbows. I’d rather be elsewhere.”

“My dear boys! Harry Potter and John Constantine the youngest exorcist alive, at my deathday party! And…” Nick said before hesitating.

“Do you think either of you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?” Nick asked excited.

“Of… of course,” said Harry.

“No,” John said bluntly.

Nearly Headless Nick beamed at him.

**Later, at the Gryffindor common room…**

“A deathday party?” said Hermione keenly when Harry had changed at last and joined her and Ron in the common room, “I bet there aren’t many living people who can say they’ve been to one of those… it’ll be fascinating!”

“Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?” said Ron, who was halfway through his Potions homework and grumpy, “Sounds dead depressing to me…”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” John said appearing out of emerald flames in the fireplace now wearing his casual clothes that he wore before coming to Hogwarts.

“Why aren’t you wearing your school robes?” Hermione asked raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t feel like wearing them,” John said, “I always feel more myself when I’m wearing my own clothes. The school robes… make me feel like someone else. Right now… I need to feel like myself.”

“I guess…” Hermione said slowly, “that makes sense.”

“Oh,” John said realizing something, “Where’s Chas? I haven’t seen him at all this year.”

“John’s going to be arriving after christmas,” Hermione explained, “Apparently, another relative had died recently and he has to stay in America for half the year while his guardian squares things away.”

Rain was still lashing the windows, which were now inky black, but inside all looked bright and cheerful. The firelight glowed over the countless squashy armchairs where people sat reading, talking, doing homework or, in the case of Fred and George Weasley, trying to find out what would happen if you fed a Filibuster firework to a salamander. Fred had “rescued” the brilliant orange, fire-dwelling lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class and it was now  
smoldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of curious people.

Before any further conversation could happen the salamander suddenly whizzed into the air, emitting loud sparks and bangs as it whirled wildly round the room. The sight of Percy bellowing himself hoarse at Fred and George, the spectacular display of tangerine stars showering from the salamander’s mouth, and its escape into the fire, with accompanying explosion.

“You monsters!” exclaimed a blonde-haired, blue-eyed Gryffindor hurrying over to the Salamander after using an immobilizing charm. As he used his wand to remove the firecracker from inside the salamander and extinguish it he held out his hand to the lizard and grabbed it gently.

“It’s alright,” the boy said as he did his best to calm the terrified creature, “I won’t let anybody hurt you again.”

They all watched him put his wand away before heading up to the boys’ dorm after grabbing a book he had dropped when he ran to rescue the salamander. The book’s title was _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. The boy was clearly a fan of Newt Scamander, and follows Newt’s path as much as possible.

By the time Halloween arrived, Harry was regretting his rash promise to go to the deathday party. The rest of the school was happily anticipating their Halloween feast; the Great Hall had been decorated with the usual live bats, Hagrid’s vast pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in, and there were rumors that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment.

“A promise is a promise,” Hermione reminded Harry bossily, “You said you’d go to the deathday party.”

So at seven o’clock, Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked straight past the doorway to the packed Great Hall, which was glittering invitingly with gold plates and candles, and directed their steps instead toward the dungeons. On the way, they met up with John who was wearing his casual clothes that he wore when he visited them in the Gryffindor common room.

The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick’s party had been lined with candles, too, though the effect was far from cheerful: These were long, thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostly light even over their own living faces. The temperature dropped with every step they took. John was the only one who didn’t seem to be affected. Harry suspected that had something to do with John’s fiery personality. As Harry shivered and drew his robes tightly around him, he heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.

“Is that supposed to be music?” Ron whispered. They turned a corner and saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.

“My dear friends,” he said mournfully, “Welcome, welcome… so pleased you could come…”

He swept off his plumed hat and bowed them inside.

It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight-blue with a thousand more black candles. Their breath rose in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer.

“Shall we have a look around?” Harry suggested, wanting to warm up his feet.

“Careful not to walk through anyone,” said Ron nervously, and they set off around the edge of the dance floor. They passed a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, a cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. Harry wasn’t surprised to see that the Bloody Baron, a gaunt, staring Slytherin ghost covered in silver bloodstains, was being given a wide berth by the other ghosts.

“Oh, no,” said Hermione, stopping abruptly, “Turn back, turn back, I don’t want to talk to Moaning Myrtle…”

“Who?” said Harry as they backtracked quickly.

“She haunts one of the toilets in the girls’ bathroom on the first floor,” said Hermione.

“She haunts a _toilet_?” Harry asked skeptical.

“I’ve seen odder,” John said, “I once met a ghost that haunted the inside of a peanut butter jar.”

“That guy’s my cousin!” exclaimed a frizzy haired ghost from nearby in a german accent. He also happened to look like Albert Einstein, “How is the whole nutter?”

“Nuttier than almond pie,” John replied, “and why do you look like Albert Einstein?”

“Ach!” the german ghost replied, “I am Albert Einstein.”

“Albert Einstein was a mathematician and an physicist,” Hermione said skeptically.

“Indeed I was,” Albert agreed, “I just had the unfortunate fate of being forbidden from passing on to the other side because of how I died.”

“I thought it was a abdominal aortic aneurysm,” John said confused.

“It was,” Einstein admitted, “but it was created by magical means. Not sure what exactly, but the Grim Reaper himself told me why I can’t move on to the other side. Now if you excuse me, there is an impressionable young lady with glasses in pigtails floating on her own. I must make her feel better.”

“Einstein was a player?” Hermione and John asked in unison with equal confusion.

“Look at those two,” Ron muttered to Harry, “they’re like a match made in heaven.”

However, it wasn’t low enough to keep John and Hermione from going red in the face.

“Anyway,” Hermione said getting them back on the original topic, “Myrtle’s toilet has been out-of-order all year because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if I could avoid it; it’s awful trying to have a pee with her wailing at you-”

“Look, food!” said Ron.

“I wouldn’t-” John began but the other three ignored him.

On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also covered in black velvet. They approached it eagerly but next moment had stopped in their tracks, horrified. The smell was quite disgusting. Large, rotten fish were laid on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal-black, were heaped on salvers; there was a great maggoty haggis, a lab of cheese covered in furry green mold and, in pride of place, an enormous gray cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words,

Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington   
Died 31st October, 1492

Harry watched, amazed, as a portly ghost approached the table, crouched low, and walked through it, his mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon.

“Can you taste it if you walk through it?” Harry asked him.

“Almost,” said the ghost sadly, and he drifted away.

“I expect they’ve let it rot to give it a stronger flavor,” said Hermione knowledgeably, pinching her nose and leaning closer to look at the putrid haggis.

“If they can exhale and what not,” John said as he made some movements with his hands causing a golden mystical circle to appear in his hands, “then they should be able to cook their own ghostly food and eat it. However, till then… let’s do this for them.”

He then spread his arms wide and the mystical circle enveloped the food. As soon as the mystical circle vanished the food became ghostly and looked like it would should it not be rotten. Fortunately, the disgusting smell vanished as well.

“Wow,” Hermione said impressed, “Even though the living started treating you like a freak, you’re kindness hasn’t vanished.”

“I’m doing this to get the stench out of my nose,” John said before he looked away to hide a slight blush as he thought _and I kinda want to get in the Ravenclaw ghost’s good graces again because she’s very beautiful and attractive… for a ghost._

As they turned around, a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in midair before them.

“Hello Geeves,” Harry said cautiously.

Unlike the ghosts around them, Geeves the Poltergeist was the very reverse of pale and transparent. He was wearing a bright orange party hat, a revolving bow tie, and a broad grin on his wide, wicked face.

“Nibbles?” he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.

“No thanks,” said Hermione.

“Heard you talking about poor Myrtle,” said Geeves, his eyes dancing, “Rude you was about poor Myrtle.”

He took a deep breath and bellowed, “OY! MYRTLE!”

“Oh, no, Geeves, don’t tell her what I said, she’ll be really upset,” Hermione whispered frantically, “I didn’t mean it, I don’t mind her… er, hello, Myrtle.”

The squat ghost of a girl had glided over. She had the glummest face Harry had ever seen, half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles.

“What?” she asked sulkily.

“How are you, Myrtle?” asked Hermione in a falsely bright voice, “It’s nice to see you out of the toilet.”

Myrtle sniffed.

“Miss Granger was just talking about you-” said Geeves slyly in Myrtle’s ear.

“Just saying… saying… how nice you look tonight,” interrupted Hermione, glaring at Geeves.

Myrtle eyed Hermione suspiciously.

“You’re making fun of me,” she decided, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see-through eyes.

“No… honestly… didn’t I just say how nice Myrtle’s looking?” tried Hermione, nudging Harry and Ron painfully in the ribs.

“Oh, yeah,” Hurry lied.

“She did,” Ron also lied.

“Don’t lie to me,” Myrtle gasped not believing them, tears now flooding down her face, while Geeves chuckled happily over her shoulder, “D’you think I don’t know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!”

“You’ve forgotten pimply,” Geeves hissed in her ear.

Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon. Geeves shot after her, pelting her with moldy peanuts, yelling, _“Pimply! Pimply!”_

“Oh, dear,” said Hermione sadly.

Nearly Headless Nick now drifted toward them through the crowd.

“Enjoying yourselves?” Nick asked.

“Oh, yes,” they lied.

“Not a bad turnout,” said Nearly Headless Nick proudly, “The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent… It’s nearly time for my speech, I’d better go and warn the orchestra…”

The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment. They, and everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement, as a hunting horn sounded.

“Oh, here we go,” said Nearly Headless Nick bitterly.

Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly; Harry started to clap, too, but stopped quickly at the sight of Nick’s face.

The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted, rearing and plunging. At the front of the pack was a large ghost who held his bearded head under his arm, from which position he was blowing the horn. The ghost leapt down, lifted his head high in the air so he could see over the crowd(everyone laughed), and strode over to Nearly Headless Nick, squashing his head back onto his neck.

“Nick!” he roared, “How are you? Head still hanging in there?”

He gave a hearty guffaw and clapped Nearly Headless Nick on the shoulder.

“Welcome, Patrick,” said Nick stiffly.

“Live ’uns!” said Sir Patrick, spotting Harry, Ron,Hermione, and John and giving a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head fell off again(the crowd howled with laughter).

“Very amusing,” said Nearly Headless Nick darkly.

“Don’t mind Nick!” shouted Sir Patrick’s head from the floor, “Still upset we won’t let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say… look at the fellow…”

“This is all because he’s nearly headless,” John said rolling his eyes, “and nobody here thought to finish the beheading to end his undoubtedly ongoing attempts to join your club?”

“John,” Hermione said with a raised eye, “nick’s a ghost… he’s stuck in the condition he was when he died. Also, I highly doubt a ghosts’ head can be removed at all.”

“Ghosts can touch other ghosts,” John reasoned, “so it stands to reason that a ghostly axe or sword can finish the job. Not as if he’ll die again, right?”

“It’s not just the fact he’s nearly headless,” Patrick said, “It’s his scare factor that is preventing him from joining the Headless Hunt.”

“I think,” said Harry hurriedly, at a meaningful look from Nick, “Nick’s very… frightening and… er…”

“Ha!” yelled Sir Patrick’s head, “Bet he asked you to say that!”

“If I could have everyone’s attention, it’s time for my speech!” said Nearly Headless Nick loudly, striding toward the podium and climbing into an icy blue spotlight.

“My late lamented lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow…” began Nick.

But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt had just started a game of Head Hockey and the crowd were turning to watch. Nearly Headless Nick tried vainly to recapture his audience, but gave up as Sir Patrick’s head went sailing past him to loud cheers.

Harry was very cold by now, not to mention hungry.

“I can’t stand much more of this,” Ron muttered, his teeth chattering, as the orchestra ground back into action and the ghosts swept back onto the dance floor.

“Let’s go,” Harry agreed.

They backed toward the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked at them, and a minute later were hurrying back up the passageway full of black candles.

“Pudding might not be finished yet,” said Ron hopefully, leading the way toward the steps to the entrance hall.

And then Harry and John heard it.

_“… rip… tear… kill…”_

It was the same voice, the same cold, murderous voice they had heard after Harry had found John and they had begun their way back to the Great Hall.

They stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall, listening with all their might, looking around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway.

“Harry, John what’re you-” began Hermione concerned and confused.

“It’s that voice again,” John muttered.

“Shut up a minute,” Harry said straining to hear the voice.

_“… soo hungry… for so long…”_

“Listen!” said Harry urgently, and Ron and Hermione froze, watching them.

_“… kill… time to kill…”_

The voice was growing fainter. Harry was sure it was moving away… moving upward. A mixture of fear and excitement gripped Harry and John as they stared at the dark ceiling; how could it be moving upward? Was it a phantom, to whom stone ceilings didn’t matter?

“This way!” John shouted, and he began to run, up the stairs, into the entrance hall. It was no good hoping to hear anything here, the babble of talk from the Halloween feast was echoing out of the Great Hall. Harry sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, Ron and Hermione clattering behind Harry.

“John, Harry, what’re we —”

“SHH!”

Harry and John strained their ears. Distantly, from the floor above, and growing fainter still, he heard the voice: “ _… I smell blood… I SMELL BLOOD!”_

Harry’s stomach lurched while John’s expression grew grimmer than it already was.

“It’s going to kill someone!” Harry shouted, and ignoring Ron’s and Hermione’s bewildered faces, he ran up the next flight of steps three at a time past John, trying to listen over his own pounding footsteps.

Harry hurtled around the whole of the second floor, Ron and Hermione panting behind him, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.

“Harry, John, what was that all about?” panted Ron, wiping sweat off his face, “I couldn’t hear anything…”

But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor.

“Look!” Hermione cried out.

Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN   
OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

“What’s that thing… hanging underneath?” said Ron, a slight quiver in his voice.

As they edged nearer, Harry almost slipped… there was a large puddle of water on the floor; Ron and Hermione grabbed him, and they inched toward the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All four of them realized what it was at once, and leapt backward with a splash.

Mrs. Norris, the caretaker’s cat, was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.

For a few seconds, they didn’t move. Then Ron said, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Shouldn’t we try and help-” Harry began awkwardly.

“Trust me,” said John grimly, “We don’t want to be found here.”

But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told them that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and the loud, happy talk of well-fed people; next moment, students were crashing into the passage from both ends.


	7. The Writing on the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry joins John's small unofficial Pariah Club, Percy finds Harry, Ron, Hermione, and John just outside of Myrtle's lavatory, John and Gary meet for the first time, John reveals a brand new spell he invented.

Chapter 7: The Writing on the Wall

The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front spotted the hanging cat. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and John stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students pressing forward to see the grisly sight.

Then someone shouted through the quiet.

“Enemies of the Heir, beware! You’ll be next, Mudbloods!”

It was Draco Malfoy. He had pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold eyes alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, as he grinned at the sight of the hanging, immobile cat.

“What’s going on here? What’s going on?”

Attracted no doubt by Malfoy’s shout, Argus Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. Then he saw Mrs. Norris and fell back, clutching his face in horror.

“My cat! My cat! What’s happened to Mrs. Norris?” he shrieked. And his popping eyes fell on John.

“ _You!_ ” he screeched, “ _You!_ You’ve murdered my cat! You’ve killed her! I’ll kill you! I’ll-”

_“Argus!”_

Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by a number of other teachers. In seconds, he had swept past Harry, Ron, Hermione, and John and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.

“Come with me, Argus,” he said to Filch, “You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, Mr. Constantine.”

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly.

“My office is nearest, Headmaster… just upstairs… please feel free…”

“Thank you, Gilderoy,” said Dumbledore.

The silent crowd parted to let them pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore; so did Professors McGonagall and Snape.

As they entered Lockhart’s darkened office there was a flurry of movement across the walls; Harry saw several of the Lockharts in the pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back. Dumbledore laid Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and John exchanged tense looks and sank into chairs outside the pool of candlelight, watching.

The tip of Dumbledore’s long, crooked nose was barely an inch from Mrs. Norris’s fur. He was looking at her closely through his half-moon spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking. Professor McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed. Snape loomed behind them, half in shadow, wearing a most peculiar expression: It was as though he was trying hard not to smile. And Lockhart was hovering around all of them, making suggestions.

“It was definitely a curse that killed her… probably the Transmogrifian Torture… I’ve seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn’t there, I know the very countercurse that would have saved her…”

Lockhart’s comments were punctuated by Filch’s dry, racking sobs. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs. Norris, his face in his hands. Much as he detested Filch, Harry couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for him, though not nearly as sorry as he felt for himself. If Dumbledore believed Filch, he would be expelled for sure.

Dumbledore was now muttering strange words under his breath and tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand but nothing happened: She continued to look as though she had been recently stuffed.

“… I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadogou,” said Lockhart, “a series of attacks, the full story’s in my autobiography, I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets, which cleared the matter up at once…”

The photographs of Lockhart on the walls were all nodding in agreement as he talked. One of them had forgotten to remove his hair net.

At last Dumbledore straightened up.

“She’s not dead, Argus,” he said softly.

Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he had prevented.

“Not dead?” choked Filch, looking through his fingers at Mrs. Norris, “But why’s she all… all stiff and frozen?”

“She has been Petrified,” said Dumbledore, “But how, I cannot say…”

“Ah! I thought so!” said Lockhart who everybody pretended wasn’t there due to his stupidity.

“Ask him!” shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tearstained face to John.

“No second year could have done this,” said Dumbledore firmly, “It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced-”

“He did it, he did it!” Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling, “You saw what he wrote on the wall! You know what he did to the Malfoy bratt!”

“I never touched your ugly cat!” John said loudly, uncomfortably aware of everyone looking at him, including all the Lockharts on the walls, “and I have no recollection of Malfoy’s near-death.”

“Rubbish!” snarled Filch, “He’s a freak that desires to kill! He couldn’t kill Malfoy, so he tried to Mrs. Norris!”

“If I might speak, Headmaster,” said Snape from the shadows, and John’s sense of foreboding increased; he was sure nothing Snape had to say was going to do him any good.

“Constantine and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he said, a slight sneer curling his mouth as though he doubted it, “But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why was he in the upstairs corridor at all? Why wasn’t he at the Halloween feast?”

Harry, Ron and Hermione all launched into an explanation about the deathday party. John just stayed silent as he didn’t really need to make any additions to the explanation. Also, three people talking at once are hard enough to understand without including a fourth.

“… there were hundreds of ghosts, They’ll tell you we were there…”

“But why not join the feast afterward?” said Snape, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight, “Why go up to that corridor?”

Ron and Hermione looked at Harry. However, John was the one to speak. Unlike Harry, he wasn’t afraid of people thinking him nutso. They already thought him a freak, so why not add crazy to the mix?

“Because… because…” Harry said, his heart thumping very fast; something told him it would sound very far-fetched if he told them he had been led there by a bodiless voice only John and himself could hear.

“Because we were tired and wanted to go to bed,” he said.

“Without any supper?” said Snape, a triumphant smile flickering across his gaunt face, “I didn’t think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties.”

“We weren’t hungry,” said Ron loudly as his stomach gave a huge rumble.

Snape’s nasty smile widened.

“I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful,” Snape said, “It might be a good idea if he were deprived of certain privileges until he is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel he should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until he is ready to be honest.”

“Really, Severus,” said Professor McGonagall sharply, “I see no reason to stop the boy playing Quidditch. This cat wasn’t hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Potter or Constantine have done anything wrong.”

“Innocent until proven guilty, Severus,” Dumbledore said firmly.

Snape looked furious. So did Filch.

“My cat has been Petrified!” he shrieked, his eyes popping, “I want to see some punishment!”

“We will be able to cure her, Argus,” said Dumbledore patiently, “Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris.”

“I’ll make it,” Lockhart butted in, “I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep-”

“Excuse me,” interrupted Snape icily, “But I believe I am the Potions master at this school.”

There was a very awkward pause.

“You may go,” Dumbledore said to Harry, Ron, Hermione, and John.

They went as quickly as they could without actually running. When they were a floor up from Lockhart’s office, they turned into an empty classroom and closed the door quietly behind them. Harry squinted at his friends’ darkened faces.

“D’you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?”

“No,” said Ron, without hesitation, “Hearing voices no one else can hear isn’t a good sign, even in the wizarding world.”

Something in Ron’s voice made Harry ask, “You do believe me, don’t you?”

“ ’Course I do,” said Ron quickly, “But… you must admit it’s weird…”

“I know it’s weird,” said Harry, “The whole thing’s weird. What was that writing on the wall about? ‘The Chamber Has Been Opened’... What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I know what it means,” John said quietly.

“You do?” Harry, Ron, and Hermione asked in unison.

“Aye,” John sighed, “but… I don’t really want to go into it.”

“Tell us now,” Harry said sternly to John. John stared at Harry for a few minutes in silence before he sighed.

Fortunately for John, a clock chimed somewhere.

“Midnight,” said Harry, “We’d better get to bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else.”

For a few days, the school could talk of little else but the attack on Mrs. Norris. Filch kept it fresh in everyone’s minds by pacing the spot where she had been attacked, as though he thought the attacker might come back. Harry had seen him scrubbing the message on the wall with Mrs. Skower’s All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, but to no effect; the words still gleamed as brightly as ever on the stone. When Filch wasn’t guarding the scene of the crime, he was skulking red-eyed through the corridors, lunging out at unsuspecting students and trying to put them in detention for things like “breathing loudly” and “looking happy.”

Ginny Weasley seemed very disturbed by Mrs. Norris’s fate. According to Ron, she was a great cat lover.

“But you haven’t really got to know Mrs. Norris,” Ron told her bracingly, “Honestly, we’re much better off without her.”

Ginny’s lip trembled.

“Stuff like this doesn’t often happen at Hogwarts,” Ron assured her, “They’ll catch the maniac who did it and have him out of here in no time. I just hope he’s got time to Petrify Filch before he’s expelled.”

“I’m only joking…” Ron added hastily as Ginny blanched.

The attack had also had an effect on Hermione. It was quite usual for Hermione to spend a lot of time reading, but she was now doing almost nothing else. Especially, since John was avoiding them due to the fact Harry was determined to force John to tell them what he knew about the warning written on the wall. Harry and Ron couldn’t get much response from her when they asked what she was up to, and not until the following Wednesday did they find out.

Harry had been held back in Potions, where Snape had made him stay behind to scrape tubeworms off the desks. After a hurried lunch, he went upstairs to meet Ron in the library, and saw Justin Finch-Fletchley, the Hufflepuff boy from Herbology, coming toward him. Harry had just opened his mouth to say hello when Justin caught sight of him, turned abruptly, and sped off in the opposite direction.

Harry found Ron at the back of the library, measuring his History of Magic homework. Professor Binns had asked for a three-foot-long composition on “The Medieval Assembly of European Wizards.”

“I don’t believe it, I’m still eight inches short…” said Ron furiously, letting go of his parchment, which sprang back into a roll, “And Hermione’s done four feet seven inches and her writing’s tiny.”

“Where is she?” asked Harry, grabbing the tape measure and unrolling his own homework.

“Somewhere over there,” said Ron, pointing along the shelves, “Looking for another book. I think she’s trying to read the whole library before Christmas.”

Harry told Ron about Justin Finch-Fletchley running away from him.

“Dunno why you care. I thought he was a bit of an idiot,” said Ron, scribbling away, making his writing as large as possible, “All that junk about Lockhart being so great-”

“He cares,” said a familiar Liverpudlian voice from nearby, “because, he likes people. He wants people to like him back as well.”

“Where have you been?” Harry asked annoyed as he turned to look at John who was sitting at another table. John was back in his school Robes even though the tie was loosely tied around his neck now.

“I actually have more friends than just you, Ron, and Hermione,” John replied, “besides, I was helping Phoebe out with her homework. She’s very intelligent, but she still has much to learn.”

Hermione emerged from between the bookshelves. She looked irritable and at last seemed ready to talk to them.

“ _All_ the copies of _Hogwarts, A History_ have been taken out,” she said, sitting down next to Harry and Ron, “And there’s a two-week waiting list. I _wish_ I hadn’t left my copy at home, but I couldn’t fit it in my trunk with all the Lockhart books.”

“Why do you want it?” asked Harry.

“The same reason everyone else wants it,” said Hermione, “to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets.”

“What’s that?” asked Harry quickly.

“That’s just it. I can’t remember,” said Hermione, biting her lip, “And I can’t find the story anywhere else-”

“Hermione, let me read your composition,” interrupted Ron desperately, checking his watch.

“No, I won’t,” said Hermione, suddenly severe, “You’ve had ten days to finish it-”

“I only need another two inches, come on-”

The bell rang. Ron and Hermione led the way to History of Magic, bickering.

History of Magic was the dullest subject on their schedule. Professor Binns, who taught it, was their only ghost teacher, and the most exciting thing that ever happened in his classes was his entering the room through the blackboard. Ancient and shriveled, many people said he hadn’t noticed he was dead. He had simply got up to teach one day and left his body behind him in an armchair in front of the staffroom fire; his routine had not varied in the slightest since.

Today was as boring as ever. Professor Binns opened his notes and began to read in a flat drone like an old vacuum cleaner until nearly everyone in the class was in a deep stupor, occasionally coming to long enough to copy down a name or date, then falling asleep again. He had been speaking for half an hour when something happened that had never happened before. Hermione put up her hand.

Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of a deadly dull lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked amazed.

“Miss… er…?”

“Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets,” said Hermione in a clear voice.

Dean Thomas, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open, gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance; Lavender Brown’s head came up off her arms and Neville Longbottom’s elbow slipped off his desk.

Professor Binns blinked.

“My subject is History of Magic,” he said in his dry, wheezy voice, “I deal with, facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends.”

He cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk snapping and continued, “In September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers…”

“The Chamber of Secrets isn’t a myth,” John spoke up for the first time in class, “It’s as real as you or me. Now why don’t you tell the bloody story.”

Professor Binns was looking at him in such amazement, Harry was sure no student had ever interrupted him before, alive or dead.

“What makes you think that?” Professor Binns asked.

“I chat occasionally with the Ravenclaw ghost,” John admitted, “and she sometimes chats with Moaning Myrtle who was killed the last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened.”

Professor Binns looked like he was about to object, but the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binns’ every word. He looked dimly at them all, every face turned to his. Harry could tell he was completely thrown by such an unusual show of interest.

“Oh, very well,” he said slowly, “Let me see… the Chamber of Secrets…”

“You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago… the precise date is uncertain… by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution.”

He paused, gazed blearily around the room, and continued.

“For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school.”

Professor Binns paused again, pursing his lips, looking like a wrinkled old tortoise.

“Reliable historical sources tell us this much,” he said, “But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing.”

“Slytherin, according to the legend,” Binns continued, “sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic.”

There was silence as he finished telling the story, but it wasn’t the usual, sleepy silence that filled Professor Binns’ classes. There was unease in the air as everyone continued to watch him, hoping for more. Professor Binns looked faintly annoyed.

“The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course,” he said, “Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible. Even ghosts can misremember things and confuse myth with fact. I however, am alive and will not fall victim to such legends.”

 _Guess he really has no idea he’s a ghost_ Harry thought.

Hermione’s hand was back in the air.

“Sir… what exactly do you mean by the ‘horror within’ the Chamber?”

“That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control,” said Professor Binns in his dry, reedy voice.

The class exchanged nervous looks.

“I tell you, the thing does not exist,” said Professor Binns stubbornly, shuffling his notes. “There is no Chamber and no monster.”

“But, sir,” said Seamus Finnigan, “if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin’s true heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?”

“Nonsense, O’Flaherty,” said Professor Binns in an aggravated tone.\, “If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven’t found the thing-”

“But, Professor,” piped up Parvati Patil, “you’d probably have to use Dark Magic to open it-”

“Just because a wizard doesn’t use Dark Magic doesn’t mean he can’t, Miss Pennyfeather,” snapped Professor Binns, “I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore-”

“But maybe you’ve got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn’t-” began Dean Thomas, but Professor Binns had had enough.

“That will do,” he said sharply, “It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return, if you please, to history, to solid, believable, verifiable fact!”

And within five minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual torpor.

**Later…**

“I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony,” Ron told Harry, Hermione, and John as they fought their way through the teeming corridors at the end of the lesson to drop off their bags before dinner, “But I never knew he started all this pure-blood stuff. I wouldn’t be in his House if you paid me. Honestly, if the Sorting Hat had tried to put me in Slytherin, I’d’ve got the train straight back home…”

Hermione nodded fervently, but Harry didn’t say anything. His stomach had just dropped unpleasantly. John was feeling the same, but he wasn’t nearly as sickened as Harry was.

Neither Harry nor John had ever told Ron, Hermione, and the rest of their friends that the Sorting Hat had seriously considered putting them in Slytherin. Not even each other. But both of them had demanded to not be put in Slytherin.

As they were shunted along in the throng, Colin Creevey went past.

“Hiya, Harry!”

“Hullo, Colin,” said Harry automatically.

“Harry… Harry… a boy in my class has been saying you’re-”

But Colin was so small he couldn’t fight against the tide of people bearing him toward the Great Hall; they heard him squeak, “See you, Harry!” and he was gone.

“What’s a boy in his class saying about you?” Hermione wondered.

“That I’m Slytherin’s heir, I expect,” said Harry, his stomach dropping another inch or so as he suddenly remembered the way Justin Finch-Fletchley had run away from him at lunchtime.

“No,” John said, “They just think you’re in bed with the devil, so to speak. It’s me they believe is the heir to Slytherin after that fiery fiasco.”

“If you were the heir to Slytherin,” Ron countered, “shouldn’t you be in Slytherin instead?”

John just stayed silent in response.

“Anyway, people here’ll believe anything,” said Ron in disgust.

The crowd thinned and they were able to climb the next staircase without difficulty.

“D’you really think there’s a Chamber of Secrets?” Ron asked Hermione.

“I don’t know,” she said, frowning, “Dumbledore couldn’t cure Mrs. Norris, and that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not be… well… human.”

As she spoke, they turned a corner and found themselves at the end of the very corridor where the attack had happened. They stopped and looked. The scene was just as it had been that night, except that there was no stiff cat hanging from the torch bracket, and an empty chair stood against the wall bearing the message “The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened.”

“That’s where Filch has been keeping guard,” Ron muttered.

They looked at each other. The corridor was deserted.

“Can’t hurt to have a poke around,” said Harry, dropping his bag and getting to his hands and knees so that he could crawl along, searching for clues. John on the other hand formed a golden circle with his hands before wiping his eyes with his right hand. His eyes were now a brilliant rainbow of colors.

“Scorch marks,” John said as he looked around.

“Here…” John pointed, “and there…”

“Come and look at this!” said Hermione, “This is funny…”

As John did another spell to deactivate his “detective vision” Harry got up and crossed to the window next to the message on the wall. Hermione was pointing at the topmost pane, where around twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a small crack. A long, silvery thread was dangling like a rope, as though they had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside.

“Have you ever seen spiders act like that?” said Hermione wonderingly.

“No,” said Harry, “have you, Ron? Ron?”

He looked over his shoulder. Ron was standing well back and seemed to be fighting the impulse to run.

“Leave him be,” John said, “He has arachnophobia.”

“I never knew that,” said Hermione, looking at Ron in surprise, “He has used spiders in Potions loads of times…”

“I don’t mind them dead,” said Ron, who was carefully looking anywhere but at the window, “I just don’t like the way they move…”

Hermione giggled.

“It’s not funny,” said Ron, fiercely, “If you must know, when I was three, Fred turned my… my teddy bear into a great big filthy spider because I broke his toy broomstick,,. You wouldn’t like them either if you’d been holding your bear and suddenly it had too many legs and…”

He broke off, shuddering. Hermione was obviously still trying not to laugh. Feeling they had better get off the subject, Harry said, “Remember all that water on the floor? Where did that come from? Someone’s mopped it up.”

“It was about here,” said Ron, recovering himself to walk a few paces past Filch’s chair and pointing, “Level with this door.”

He reached for the brass doorknob but suddenly withdrew his hand as though he’d been burned.

“What’s the matter?” said Harry.

“Can’t go in there,” said Ron gruffly, “That’s a girls’ toilet.”

“Oh, Ron, there won’t be anyone in there,” said Hermione, standing up and coming overm “That’s Moaning Myrtle’s place. Come on, let’s have a look.”

And ignoring the large out of order sign, she opened the door.

It was the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom Harry had ever set foot in. Under a large, cracked, and spotted mirror were a row of chipped sinks. The floor was damp and reflected the dull light given off by the stubs of a few candles, burning low in their holders; the wooden doors to the stalls were flaking and scratched and   
one of them was dangling off its hinges.

Hermione put her fingers to her lips and set off toward the end stall. When she reached it she said, “Hello, Myrtle, how are you?”

Harry and Ron went to look. Moaning Myrtle was floating above the tank of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin.

“This is a girls’ bathroom,” she said, eyeing Ron, Harry, and John suspiciously, “They’re not girls.”

“No,” Hermione agreed, “I just wanted to show them how… Er… nice it is in here.”

She waved vaguely at the dirty old mirror and the damp floor.

“Ask her if she saw anything,” Harry mouthed at Hermione.

“What are you whispering?” said Myrtle, staring at him.

“Nothing,” said Harry quickly, “We wanted to ask-”

“I wish people would stop talking behind my back!” said Myrtle, in a voice choked with tears, “I _do_ have feelings, you know, even if I _am_ dead-”

 _Looks like the Ravenclaw ghost was right about this one. Way too emotional,_ thought John dryly.

“Myrtle, no one wants to upset you,” said Hermione, “Harry only-”

“No one wants to upset me! That’s a good one!” howled Myrtle, “My life was nothing but misery at this place and now people come along ruining my death!”

“We wanted to ask you if you’ve seen anything funny lately,” said Hermione quickly, “Because a cat was attacked right outside your front door on Halloween.”

“Did you see anyone near here that night?” said Harry.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” said Myrtle dramatically, “Geeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to kill myself. Then, of course, I remembered that I’m… that I’m…”

“Already dead,” said Ron helpfully.

Myrtle gave a tragic sob, rose up in the air, turned over, and dived headfirst into the toilet, splashing water all over them and vanishing from sight, although from the direction of her muffled sobs, she had come to rest somewhere in the U-bend.

Harry and Ron stood with their mouths open, but John just stood there with his usual grim expression. Hermione shrugged wearily and said, “Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle… Come on, let’s go.”

Harry had barely closed the door on Myrtle’s gurgling sobs when a loud voice made all three of them jump. John wasn’t startled at all in fact. Especially, since he knew that they’d get caught walking out of the abandoned girls’ lavatory.

“RON!”

Percy Weasley had stopped dead at the head of the stairs, prefect badge agleam, an expression of complete shock on his face.

“That’s a girls’ bathroom!” he gasped, “What were you-”

“We were having a four-way,” John said sarcastically, “In fact we just got finished. Want to have a look inside at all the… mess… we left behind?”

“No idea what a four-way is,” Ron said quickly at Percy’s revolted face, “but we weren’t doing that. We were just having a look around, Clues, you know-”

Percy swelled in a manner that reminded Harry forcefully of Mrs. Weasley.

“Get. Away. From. There,” Percy said, striding toward them and starting to bustle them along, flapping his arms, “Don’t you care what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone’s at dinner-”

 _I don’t,_ thought John as he went along with them.

“Why shouldn’t we be here?” interrupted Ron hotly, stopping short and glaring at Percy, “Listen, we never laid a finger on that cat!”

“That’s what I told Ginny,” said Percy fiercely, “but she still seems to think you’re going to be expelled, I’ve never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out, you might think of her, all the first years are thoroughly over excited by this business-”

“ _You_ don’t care about Ginny,” said Ron, whose ears were now reddening, “You’re just worried I’m going to mess up your chances of being Head Boy-”

“Five points from Gryffindor!” Percy said tersely, fingering his prefect badge, “And I hope it teaches you a lesson! No more _detective work_ , or I’ll write to Mum!”

And he strode off, the back of his neck as red as Ron’s ears. They waited for a minute, but eventually they all began walking down the corridor heading to their common rooms.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione chose seats as far as possible from Percy in the common room that night. Ron was still in a very bad temper and kept blotting his Charms homework. When he reached absently for his wand to remove the smudges, it ignited the parchment. Fuming almost as much as his homework, Ron slammed _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ shut. To Harry’s surprise, Hermione followed suit.

“Who can it be, though?” she said in a quiet voice, as though continuing a conversation they had just been having, “Who’d want to frighten all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?”

“What’s a squib?” Harry asked.

“It’s Filch” said Hermione while Ron sniggered, “Basically the reverse of muggle-borns. Children born of two wizarding parents, but is unable to use magic.”

“Explains why he hates students then,” Harry said.

“Yeah,” Ron agreed, “or maybe he was born such a gigantic git.”

“Anyway,” Ron said bringing them back on topic, “Who do we know who thinks Muggle-borns are scum?”

He looked at Hermione. Hermione looked back, unconvinced.

“If you’re talking about Malfoy-” began Hermione.

“Of course I am!” said Ron, “You heard him… ‘You’ll be next, Mudbloods!’... come on, you’ve only got to look at his foul rat face to know it’s him…”

“Malfoy, the Heir of Slytherin?” said Hermione skeptically.

“Look at his family,” said Harry, closing his books, too, “The whole lot of them have been in Slytherin; he’s always boasting about it. They could easily be Slytherin’s descendants. His father’s definitely evil enough.”

“You’re forgetting something,” Hermione said.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Even though John doesn’t share the surname,” Hermione reminded Harry and Ron, “he’s a Malfoy too and he’s not in Slytherin.”

“Oh,” Harry said realizing she’s right.

“I suggest we ask him before we condemn Draco,” Hermione said, “If anyone knows for certain, it’s John.”

**Later, with John…**

The students of Hogwarts have stopped insulting John because there had been no more fiery episodes. However, for the most part they either ignored John or avoided him entirely. Phoebe, Anne, and Ritchie on the other hand stuck by John… when they were able to of course. Currently, John was on his own walking down an empty corridor when he heard the sound of something fall in a nearby boy’s lavatory. Curious, he went into the lavatory to check it out. When he did, he found that Hufflepuff boy he never really talked to named Gary Lester. Gary was currently on the ground and a syringe was stuck in his arm.

“Oh, you dunce,” John said realizing Gary had overdosed on heroin. He proceded to kneel down next to Gary as he pulled out his wand. He then removed the syringe from Gary’s arm and tossed it away where it shattered onto the floor.

“Hope this works for your sake,” John muttered as he prepared to use a spell he never had before… even though it was his own invention.

“Venenum delere,” John said as he waved the wand over Gary, “Venenum delere.”

He repeated that several times as the signs of heroin and the addiction for it began to vanish. He kept at it for what felt like hours, but eventually Gary breathed a shaky shallow breath as he came to.

“Who are you?” Gary asked with an Irish accent unable to see clearly as his vision was blurry,

“Name’s John Constantine,” John said as he put his wand away, “and I healed you of your heroin addiction, and the heroin itself.”

Gary looked shocked at that, but eventually he was able to recover enough to get into a sitting position.

“You’re not the monster some of my housemates say you are,” Gary said as John helped him stand.

“Oh I’m still a monster,” John said as he escorted Gary outside

of the lavatory, “but I’m on the side of the angels.”

“Thank you for saving my life John,” Gary said as he turned to look at Constantine, “Is there any way I can repay you?”

“Aye,” John said with a stern expression, “Stop doing drugs mate. That is, if you have any desire to live.”

“I’ll do my best,” Gary said before he slowly headed where he was heading to before he had the sudden need to inject heroin into himself.

With that done, John resumed his own path to where he was going which was to be honest… anywhere. He was needing to think, but he couldn’t do that in the noisy Ravenclaw common room. Little did he know, he was being watched. Behind him was Gilderoy Lockhart who was certain John knew that he was a fraud. Gilderoy pulled out his wand to use the only spell he knows, but before he could he saw another student walk up to John. That student was Prue Halliwell. She was clearly trying to determine of John was a threat to her family or not based on the story about him.


	8. The Rogue Bludger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's arm gets broken, John stops Lockhart from doing his faulty healing spell, John and Harry both have the strangest dreams ever... but then again who knows what those "dreams" really were.

Chapter 8: The Rogue Bludger

Since the disastrous episode of the pixies, Professor Lockhart had not brought live creatures to class. Instead, he read passages from his books to them, and sometimes reenacted some of the more dramatic bits. He usually picked Harry to help him with these reconstructions; so far, Harry had been forced to play a simple Transylvanian villager whom Lockhart had cured of a Babbling Curse, a yeti with a head cold, and a vampire who had been unable to eat anything except lettuce since Lockhart had dealt with him. Harry was hauled to the front of the class during their very next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, this time acting a werewolf. If he hadn’t had a very good reason for keeping Lockhart in a good   
mood, he would have refused to do it. John on the other hand, skipped every one of the lessons. He knew Lockhart would only teach them lies, and Lockhart was afraid John would spout out his secret. Of course, Gilderoy was way off because while John knew Gilderoy was a fraud, he didn’t care enough to discredit the useless teacher… yet.

“Nice loud howl,” Gilderoy said as Harry humiliated himself, “Harry… exactly… and then, if you’ll believe it, I pounced… like this… slammed him to the floor… thus… with one hand, I managed to hold him down… with my other, I put my wand to his throat… I then screwed up my remaining strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm… he let out a piteous moan… go on, Harry… higher than that… good… the fur vanished… the fangs shrank… and he turned back into a man. Simple, yet effective… and another village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks.”

The bell rang and Lockhart got to his feet.

“Homework…” Gilderoy said, “compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf! Signed copies of Magical Me to the author of the best one!”

The class began to leave. Harry returned to the back of the room, where Ron and Hermione were waiting.

“Ready?” Harry muttered.

“Why’d you mutter?” Hermione asked, “We’re just going to talk to a friend… not as if that’s illegal, ya know.”

“Right,” Harry said sheepishly, “I just feel like we’re about to do something bad, is all.”

“Huh,” Ron said, “I’m getting it too. Wonder why.”

At that, they all left the classroom and began their search for John.

**Meanwhile, with John…**

John was currently resting in the common room on his own, while students came and went every now and then. However, his rest was interrupted by someone jabbing him in the cheek. He opened his right eye and saw a blond curly-haired girl staring at him. That girl was Luna Lovegood, and best friend of Ginny Weasley.

“What do you want Luna?” John asked irritably. Luna irritates him a LOT.

“Have you seen my panties?” Luna asked, “all of them have gone missing.”

John suddenly widened his eyes at that and “jumped” causing him to fall face first onto the floor with his head bonking on the coffee table on the way down.

“Ow,” John muttered to himself as he got to his feet before turning to look at Luna. He did everything he could to not picture what Luna would look like without panties on as she was undoubtedly going panty-less right now.

“I have not seen them,” John said going red as he was failing to not picture it, “how long have they been missing?”

“They vanished during the night,” Luna replied, “I suspect Nargals are behind it.”

“Alright,” Luna sighed, “I guess I’ll have to wait for them to return. My stuff always does when they vanish.”

She then left the common room wearing a skirt which was the only thing hiding her privates.

“That girl is off her rocker,” John muttered as he sat back down in the comfy chair and tried to rest again.

**Later…**

John was now in the library looking for whatever could help him figure out how he could safely spontaneously combust when Harry, Hermione, and Ron appeared.

“John,” Harry said to John who was reading a book titled _Afflictions and Blood Curses_. Unfortunately, the book wasn’t telling John what he needed to know.

“What?” John asked as he closed the book and put it down on the table.

“We need to know-” began Hermione gently.

“Could Draco be Slytherin’s Heir?” Ron asked impatiently.

John suddenly burst out laughing at how ridiculous that sounded, and couldn’t stop even when Madam Pince stomped over and told him to shut up. He only stopped laughing once they were a fair amount away from the Library.

“How can you think this funny?” Harry asked.

“Because Draco being the Heir to Slytherin is completely ridiculous,” John snorted, “If he was the Heir to Slytherin he’d be a parselmouth, and he’s not.”

He then stopped as something clicked in his head.

“What is it?” Hermione asked.

“Spiders running away frantically,” John muttered mostly to himself as he paced in the corridor, “parselmouth, Slytherin’s heir…”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other in confusion before looking back at John.

“Aha!” John said with a grin which was unusual for him, “I know what attacked Mrs. Norris!”

“You do?!” the Gryffindor trio exclaimed.

“How?” Hermione asked.

“Last year,” John explained, “When we were searching for info on Nicolas Flamel?”

“Yes…” the Gryffindor trio said not understanding.

“I didn’t look myself because I had already read all of the books,” John continued, “and one of those books held the key to this year’s mystery.”

“I don’t understand…” Ron said confused.

“There is a creature that can kill people that look into its eyes,” John said excitedly, “I can’t remember its name, but spiders fear it. Those spiders we saw on the window? They were running away because of the creature that attacked Mrs. Norris. The Chamber of Secrets can only be opened by the heir of Slytherin himself, which means the key that opens the chamber is parseltongue.”

Herry, Ron, and Hermione stared dumbfounded as they registered everything John was saying.

“There’s just one thing though,” Hermione said, “Mrs. Norris is petrified, and you said that the creature kills with its eyes.”

“Oh,” John said with his excitement vanishing, “bollocks. Looks like you’re right.”

At that, John and the Gryffindor trio continued their path along the corridor.

**The next day…**

Harry woke early on Saturday morning and lay for a while thinking about the coming Quidditch match. He was nervous, mainly at the thought of what Wood would say if Gryffindor lost, but also at the idea of facing a team mounted on the fastest racing brooms gold could buy. He had never wanted to beat Slytherin so badly. After half an hour of lying there with his insides churning, he got up, dressed, and went down to breakfast early, where he found the rest of the Gryffindor team huddled at the long, empty table, all looking uptight and not speaking much.

As eleven o’clock approached, the whole school started to make its way down to the Quidditch stadium. It was a muggy sort of day with a hint of thunder in the air. Ron and Hermione came hurrying over to wish Harry good luck as he entered the locker rooms. The team pulled on their scarlet Gryffindor robes, then sat down to listen to Wood’s usual pre-match pep talk.

“Slytherin has better brooms than us,” he began, “No point denying it. But we’ve got better people on our brooms. We’ve trained harder than they have, we’ve been flying in all weathers…”

“Too true,” muttered George Weasley, “I haven’t been properly dry since August.”

“… and we’re going to make them rue the day they let that little bit of slime, Malfoy, buy his way onto their team,” Wood continued.

Chest heaving with emotion, Wood turned to Harry.

“It’ll be down to you,” Wood said, “Harry, to show them that a Seeker has to have something more than a rich father. Get to that Snitch before Malfoy or die trying, Harry, because we’ve got to win today, we’ve got to.”

“So no pressure, Harry,” said Fred, winking at him.

As they walked out onto the field, a roar of noise greeted them; mainly cheers, because Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were anxious to see Slytherin beaten, but the Slytherins in the crowd made their boos and hisses heard, too. Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher, asked Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they did, giving each other threatening stares and gripping rather harder than was necessary.

“On my whistle,” said Madam Hooch, “Three… two… one…”

With a roar from the crowd to speed them upward, the fourteen players rose toward the leaden sky. Harry flew higher than any of them, squinting around for the Snitch.

“Alright there, Scarhead?” yelled Malfoy, shooting underneath him as though to show off the speed of his broom.

Harry had no time to reply. At that very moment, a heavy black Bludger came pelting toward him; he avoided it so narrowly that he felt it ruffle his hair as it passed.

“Close one, Harry!” said George, streaking past him with his club in his hand, ready to knock the Bludger back toward a Slytherin. Harry saw George give the Bludger a powerful whack in the direction of Adrian Pucey, but the Bludger changed direction in midair and shot straight for Harry again.

Harry dropped quickly to avoid it, and George managed to hit it hard toward Malfoy. Once again, the Bludger swerved like a boomerang and shot at Harry’s head.

Harry put on a burst of speed and zoomed toward the other end of the field. He could hear the Bludger whistling along behind him. What was going on? Bludgers never concentrated on one player like this; it was their job to try and unseat as many people as possible…

Fred Weasley was waiting for the Bludger at the other end. Harry ducked as Fred swung at the Bludger with all his might; the Bludger was knocked off course.

“Gotcha!” Fred yelled happily, but he was wrong; as though it was magnetically attracted to Harry, the Bludger pelted after him once more and Harry was forced to fly off at full speed.

It had started to rain; Harry felt heavy drops fall onto his face, splattering onto his glasses. He didn’t have a clue what was going on in the rest of the game until he heard Lee Jordan, who was commentating, say, “Slytherin lead, sixty points to zero-”

The Slytherins’ superior brooms were clearly doing their jobs, and meanwhile the mad Bludger was doing all it could to knock Harry out of the air. Fred and George were now flying so close to him on either side that Harry could see nothing at all except their flailing arms and had no chance to look for the Snitch, let alone catch it.

“Someone’s… tampered… with… this… Bludger…” Fred grunted, swinging his bat with all his might at it as it launched a new attack on Harry.

“We need time out,” said George, trying to signal to Wood and stop the Bludger breaking Harry’s nose at the same time.

Wood had obviously got the message. Madam Hooch’s whistle rang out and Harry, Fred, and George dived for the ground, still trying to avoid the mad Bludger.

“What’s going on?” said Wood as the Gryffindor team huddled together, while Slytherins in the crowd jeered, “We’re being flattened. Fred, George, where were you when that Bludger stopped Angelina scoring?”

“We were twenty feet above her, stopping the other Bludger from murdering Harry, Oliver,” said George angrily, “Someone’s fixed it… it won’t leave Harry alone. It hasn’t gone for anyone else all game. The Slytherins must have done something to it.”

“But the Bludgers have been locked in Madam Hooch’s office since our last practice, and there was nothing wrong with them then…” said Wood, anxiously confused.

Madam Hooch was walking toward them. Over her shoulder, Harry could see the Slytherin team jeering and pointing in his direction.

“Listen,” said Harry as she came nearer and nearer, “with you two flying around me all the time the only way I’m going to catch the Snitch is if it flies up my sleeve. Go back to the rest of the team and let me deal with the rogue one.”

“Don’t be thick,” said Fred, “It’ll take your head off.”

Wood was looking from Harry to the Weasleys.

“Oliver, this is insane,” said Alicia Spinnet angrily. “You can’t let Harry deal with that thing on his own. Let’s ask for an inquiry-”

“If we stop now, we’ll have to forfeit the match!” said Harry, “And we’re not losing to Slytherin just because of a crazy Bludger! Come on, Oliver, tell them to leave me alone!”

“This is all your fault,” George said angrily to Wood, “ ‘Get the Snitch or die trying,’ what a stupid thing to tell him-”

Madam Hooch had joined them.

“Ready to resume play?” she asked Wood.

Wood looked at the determined look on Harry’s face.

“All right,” he said, “Fred, George, you heard Harry… leave him alone and let him deal with the Bludger on his own.”

The rain was falling more heavily now. On Madam Hooch’s whistle, Harry kicked hard into the air and heard the telltale whoosh of the Bludger behind him. Higher and higher Harry climbed; he looped and swooped, spiraled, zigzagged, and rolled. Slightly dizzy, he nevertheless kept his eyes wide open, rain was speckling his glasses and ran up his nostrils as he hung upside down, avoiding another fierce dive from the Bludger. He could hear laughter from the crowd; he knew he must look very stupid, but the rogue Bludger was heavy and couldn’t change direction as quickly as Harry could; he began a kind of roller-coaster ride around the edges of the stadium, squinting through the silver sheets of rain to the Gryffindor goal posts, where Adrian Pucey was trying to get past Wood-

A whistling in Harry’s ear told him the Bludger had just missed him again; he turned right over and sped in the opposite direction.

“Training for the ballet, Potter?” yelled Malfoy as Harry was forced to do a stupid kind of twirl in midair to dodge the Bludger, and he fled, the Bludger trailing a few feet behind him; and then, glaring back at Malfoy in hatred, he saw it… the Golden Snitch. It was hovering inches above Malfoy’s left ear… and Malfoy, busy laughing at Harry, hadn’t seen it.

For an agonizing moment, Harry hung in midair, not daring to speed toward Malfoy in case he looked up and saw the Snitch.

WHAM.

He had stayed still a second too long. The Bludger had hit him at last, smashed into his elbow, and Harry felt his arm break. Dimly, dazed by the searing pain in his arm, he slid sideways on his rain-drenched broom, one knee still crooked over it, his right arm dangling useless at his side… the Bludger came pelting back for a second attack, this time aiming at his face… Harry swerved out of the way, one idea firmly lodged in his numb brain: get to Malfoy.

Through a haze of rain and pain he dived for the shimmering, sneering face below him and saw its eyes widen with fear: Malfoy thought Harry was attacking him.

“What the-” he gasped, careening out of Harry’s way.

Harry took his remaining hand off his broom and made a wild snatch; he felt his fingers close on the cold Snitch but was now only gripping the broom with his legs, and there was a yell from the crowd below as he headed straight for the ground, trying hard not to pass out.

With a splattering thud he hit the mud and rolled off his broom. His arm was hanging at a very strange angle; riddled with pain, he heard, as though from a distance, a good deal of whistling and shouting. He focused on the Snitch clutched in his good hand.

“Aha,” he said vaguely, “We’ve won.”

And he fainted.

He came around, rain falling on his face, still lying on the field, with someone leaning over him. He saw a glitter of teeth.

“Oh, no, not you,” he moaned.

“Doesn’t know what he’s saying,” said Lockhart loudly to the anxious crowd of Gryffindors pressing around them, “Not to worry, Harry. I’m about to fix your arm.”

“ _No_!” said Harry, “I’ll keep it like this, thanks…”

He tried to sit up, but the pain was terrible. He heard a familiar clicking noise nearby.

“I don’t want a photo of this, Colin,” he said loudly.

“Lie back, Harry,” said Lockhart soothingly, “It’s a simple charm I’ve used countless times-”

“Why can’t I just go to the hospital wing?” said Harry through clenched teeth.

“He should really, Professor,” said a muddy Wood, who couldn’t help grinning even though his Seeker was injured, “Great capture, Harry, really spectacular, your best yet, I’d say-”

Through the thicket of legs around him, Harry spotted Fred and George Weasley, wrestling the rogue Bludger into a box. It was still putting up a terrific fight.

“Stand back,” Lockhart said right before a strange expression came across him, “Actually, I’ve had a change of mind. Let’s get him to the hospital wing.”

Unknown to everyone, John was putting his wand away. John more than likely used the Imperius Curse on Gilderoy Lockhart.

**Later, in the hospital wing…**

Madam Pomfrey was fussily checking Harry’s arm, but when she was satisfied the dumbass of a teacher didn’t try to mend it she let out a sigh of relief.

“Lockhart may be a egotistic pig,” Madam Pomfrey said as she pulled out her wand, “but at least he realized that he should leave healing to the professionals.”

“How long should it take to mend?” Harry asked.

“Not long,” Pomfrey replied as she pointed her wand at Harry’s arm, “but I’m going to keep you here tonight to make sure you don’t have any other ailments like pneumonia due to the rain.”

After Madam Pomfrey had healed Harry’s arm, he had said bye to Ron and Hermione who waited long enough to see if he’ll be alright. Both Harry and Ron were shocked that Gilderoy did the smart thing instead of trying to prove himself a competent wizard. Hermione on the other hand was even more in love with Gilderoy for doing the right thing and allowing Madam Pomfrey to heal Harry instead.

Before the two could leave, the door of the hospital wing burst open. Filthy and soaking wet, the rest of the Gryffindor team had arrived to see Harry.

“Unbelievable flying, Harry,” said George, “I’ve just seen Marcus Flint yelling at Malfoy. Something about having the Snitch on top of his head and not noticing. Malfoy didn’t seem too happy.”

They had brought cakes, sweets, and bottles of pumpkin juice; they gathered around Harry’s bed and were just getting started on what promised to be a good party when Madam Pomfrey came storming over.

“This boy needs rest,” Madam Pomfrey yelled, “Even though his bones have healed, the body needs time to adjust! Out! OUT!”

And Harry was left alone, with nothing to distract him from how boring it is to be in the hospital wing.

Hours and hours later, Harry woke quite suddenly in the pitch blackness because he felt like he was being watched. Which he was. Standing above him was a young black-haired man wearing some kind of victorian style male outfit minus the cliche long coat. He also had some facial hair but not enough to be considered a mustache or beard.

“Gah!” Harry cried out startled which startled the young man as well.

“Who are you and why were you standing over my hospital bed?”

“My name is Credence,” the boy replied in an american accent, “and I have no idea how I got here. One second I was with Nagini and the next I was here. Where exactly is here?”

“My name is Harry Potter,” Harry said having calmed down, “and you’re in Hogwarts. If you need help getting back to where-”

However, before Harry could finish his thought the boy suddenly vanished and Harry bolted up in bed.

“That was weird,” Harry remarked.

For a second, he thought Credence vanishing was what had woken him. Then, with a thrill of horror, he realized that someone was sponging his forehead in the dark.

“Get off!” he said loudly, and then, “ _Dobby!_ ”

The house-elf ’s goggling tennis ball eyes were peering at Harry through the darkness. A single tear was running down his long, pointed nose.

“Harry Potter came back to school,” he whispered miserably, “Dobby warned and warned Harry Potter. Ah sir, why didn’t you heed Dobby? Why didn’t Harry Potter go back home when he missed the train?”

Harry heaved himself up on his pillows and pushed Dobby’s sponge away.

“What’re you doing here?” he said, “And how did you know I missed the train?”

Dobby’s lip trembled and Harry was seized by a sudden suspicion.

“It was you!” he said slowly, “You stopped the barrier from letting us through!”

“Indeed yes, sir,” said Dobby, nodding his head vigorously, ears flapping, “Dobby hid and watched for Harry Potter and sealed the gateway and Dobby had to iron his hands afterward.”

He showed Harry ten long, bandaged fingers.

“But Dobby didn’t care,” dobby continued, “sir, for he thought Harry Potter was safe, and never did Dobby dream that Harry Potter would get to school another way!”

He was rocking backward and forward, shaking his ugly head.

“Dobby was so shocked when he heard Harry Potter was back at Hogwarts, he let his master’s dinner burn!” Dobby said, “Such a flogging Dobby never had, sir…”

Harry slumped back onto his pillows.

“Well,” Harry said fiercely, “If John wasn’t there you might’ve nearly gotten me and Ron expelled. If I was any angrier, I would strangle you.”

Dobby gave a weak smile.

“Dobby is used to that, sir,” Dobby said, “Dobby gets death threats five times a day at home…”

“Not surprised with the Malfoys being your masters,” Harry said grimly.

“How-” began Dobby.

“John told me,” Harry said.

“Master Constantine was always kind to Dobby,” Dobby said.

He blew his nose on a corner of the filthy pillowcase he wore, looking so pathetic that Harry felt his anger ebb away in spite of himself.

“Why d’you wear that thing, Dobby?” he asked curiously.

“This, sir?” said Dobby, plucking at the pillowcase, “ ’Tis a mark of the house-elf’s enslavement, sir. Dobby can only be freed if his masters present him with clothes, sir. The family is careful not to pass Dobby even a sock, sir, for then he would be free to leave their house forever. That’s why the Malfoys have forbidden me from going anywhere near him. They know he’ll free me if he can as he is technically a Malfoy which makes him my owner too.”

Dobby mopped his bulging eyes and said suddenly, “Harry Potter must go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make-”

“ _Your_ Bludger?” said Harry, anger rising once more, “What d’you mean, _your_ Bludger? You made that Bludger try and kill me?”

“Not kill you, sir, never kill you!” said Dobby, shocked, “Dobby wants to save Harry Potter’s life! Better sent home, grievously injured, than remain here, sir! Dobby only wanted Harry Potter hurt enough to be sent home!”

“Oh, is that all?” said Harry angrily, “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why you wanted me sent home in pieces?”

“Ah, if Harry Potter only knew!” Dobby groaned, more tears dripping onto his ragged pillowcase, “If he knew what he means to us, to the lowly, the enslaved, we dregs of the magical world! Dobby remembers how it was when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at the height of his powers, sir! We house-elves were treated like vermin, sir!”

“Of course, Dobby is still treated like that, sir,” he admitted, drying his face on the pillowcase, “But mostly, sir, life has improved for my kind since you triumphed over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry Potter survived, and the Dark Lord’s power was broken, and it was a new dawn, sir, and Harry Potter shone like a beacon of hope for those of us who thought the Dark days would never end, sir… And now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are to happen, are perhaps happening already, and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter stay here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more-”

Dobby froze, horrorstruck, then grabbed Harry’s water jug from his bedside table and cracked it over his own head, toppling out of sight. A second later, he crawled back onto the bed, cross-eyed, muttering, “Bad Dobby, very bad Dobby…”

 _Looks like John was right about there being a Chamber and it having been opened once already,_ thought Harry.

Harry seized the elf ’s bony wrist as Dobby’s hand inched toward the water jug, “But I’m not Muggle-born...how can I be in danger from the Chamber?”

“Ah, sir, ask no more, ask no more of poor Dobby,” stammered the elf, his eyes huge in the dark, “Dark deeds are planned in this place, but Harry Potter must not be here when they happen… go home, Harry Potter, go home. Harry Potter must not meddle in this, sir, ’tis too dangerous-”

“Since it’s not Draco Malfoy, who is it, Dobby?” Harry said, keeping a firm hold on Dobby’s wrist to stop him from hitting himself with the water jug again, “Who’s opened it? Who opened it last time?”

“Dobby can’t, sir, Dobby can’t, Dobby mustn’t tell!” squealed the elf, “Go home, Harry Potter, go home!”

“I’m not going anywhere!” said Harry fiercely, “One of my best friends is Muggle-born; she’ll be first in line if the Chamber really has been opened-”

“Harry Potter risks his own life for his friends!” moaned Dobby in a kind of miserable ecstasy, “So noble! So valiant! But he must save himself, he must, Harry Potter must not-”

Dobby suddenly froze, his bat ears quivering. Harry heard it, too. There were footsteps coming down the passageway outside.

“Dobby must go!” breathed the elf, terrified. There was a loud crack, and Harry’s fist was suddenly clenched on thin air. He slumped back into bed, his eyes on the dark doorway to the hospital wing as the footsteps drew nearer.

Next moment, Dumbledore was backing into the dormitory, wearing a long woolly dressing gown and a nightcap. He was carrying one end of what looked like a statue. Professor McGonagall appeared a second later, carrying its feet. Together, they heaved it onto a bed.

“Get Madam Pomfrey,” whispered Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall hurried past the end of Harry’s bed out of sight. Harry lay quite still, pretending to be asleep. He heard urgent voices, and then Professor McGonagall swept back into view, closely followed by Madam Pomfrey, who was pulling a cardigan on over her nightdress. He heard a sharp intake of breath.

“What happened?” Madam Pomfrey whispered to Dumbledore, bending over the statue on the bed.

“Another attack,” said Dumbledore, “Minerva found him on the stairs.”

“There was a bunch of grapes next to him,” said Professor McGonagall, “We think he was trying to sneak up here to visit Potter.”

Harry’s stomach gave a horrible lurch. Slowly and carefully, he raised himself a few inches so he could look at the statue on the bed. A ray of moonlight lay across its staring face.

It was Colin Creevey. His eyes were wide and his hands were stuck up in front of him, holding his camera.

“Petrified?” whispered Madam Pomfrey.

“Yes,” said Professor McGonagall, “But I shudder to think… If Albus hadn’t been on the way downstairs for hot chocolate… who knows what might have-”

The three of them stared down at Colin. Then Dumbledore leaned forward and wrenched the camera out of Colin’s rigid grip.

“You don’t think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?” said Professor McGonagall eagerly.

Dumbledore didn’t answer. He opened the back of the camera.

“Good gracious!” said Madam Pomfrey.

A jet of steam had hissed out of the camera. Harry, three beds away, caught the acrid smell of burnt plastic.

“Melted,” said Madam Pomfrey wonderingly, “All melted…”

“What does this mean, Albus?” Professor McGonagall asked urgently.

“It means,” said Dumbledore, “that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again.”

Madam Pomfrey clapped a hand to her mouth. Professor McGonagall stared at Dumbledore.

“But, Albus… surely… who?”

“The question is not who,” said Dumbledore, his eyes on Colin, “The question is, how…”

And from what Harry could see of Professor McGonagall’s shadowy face, she didn’t understand this any better than he did.

**With John…**

John was currently tossing and turning in his sleep as he was dreaming the strangest dream he’s ever dreamt. A fiery humanoid dragon with flames making up the wings connected to some jagged dragon bones at the top of the wings. It stood on two legs, had glowing orange eyes, and had opposable thumbs and fingers, two paw-like feet with deadly looking claws, a tail with a spiked end, and ridges on the back. It was suddenly replaced by the sword of Godric Gryffindor which was for some reason being held in a woman’s hand that had protruded out of a lake.

“What the bloody hell was that?!” John exclaimed silently as he looked around to see if he was still in his bed in the Ravenclaw house’s boy’s dormitory.

**The next morning, with Harry…**

Harry woke up on Sunday morning to find the dormitory blazing with winter sunlight and his arm no longer itching from the magical healing spell. He sat up quickly and looked over at Colin’s bed, but it had been blocked from view by the high curtains Harry had changed behind yesterday. Seeing that he was awake, Madam Pomfrey came bustling over with a breakfast tray and then began checking him for any ailments due to yesterday’s rain.

“All in order,” she said as he fed himself porridge, “When you’ve finished eating, you may leave.”

Harry dressed as quickly as he could and hurried off to Gryffindor Tower, desperate to tell Ron and Hermione about Colin and Dobby, but they weren’t there. Harry left to look for them, wondering where they could have got to and feeling slightly hurt that they weren’t waiting for him.

As Harry passed the library, Percy Weasley strolled out of it, looking in far better spirits than last time they’d met.

“Oh, hello, Harry,” he said, “Excellent flying yesterday, really excellent. Gryffindor has just taken the lead for the House Cup you earned fifty points!”

“You haven’t seen Ron or Hermione, have you?” said Harry.

“No, I haven’t,” said Percy, his smile fading. “I hope Ron’s not in another _girls’ toilet_ …”

Harry forced a laugh, watched Percy walk out of sight, and then headed straight for Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. He couldn’t see why Ron and Hermione would be in there again, but after making sure that neither Filch nor any prefects were around, he opened the door and heard their voices coming from a locked stall.

“What are you guys doing here?” Harry asked confused.

Hermione peered a keyhole and let out a sigh of relief before walking out of the stall. However, Ron didn’t follow suit.

“Oh come out Ron,” Hermione said trying to keep herself from giggling, “Harry’s not going to make fun of you.”

After a minute Ron walked out walked out of the stall nervously. Harry looked at Ron in shock because Ron was dressed like a girl and had longer hair. Not only that, but he had more girl-ish features that he should.

“Uh…” Harry said speechless.

“Somehow some of the girls in the girl’s dormitory found out Ron was in a girl’s lavatory,” Hermione said straight-faced, “and then they snuck into the boy’s dormitory and cursed Ron to become a girl for 24 hours!”

She finally burst out laughing while Harry just stared open-mouthed.

“Is there anyway to turn him back?” Harry asked.

“No,” Hermione said still laughing, “not unless you want him to have the body of a boy, and the personality and thought-processes of a girl.”

“It’s not funny!” Ron yelled girl-ishly which only made Hermione laugh harder.

“Hermione,” Harry said looking at the brunette, “Can’t you see that Ron is upset? Think about if you were in his shoes, and was turned into a boy.”

As Hermione thought of that, her laughter subsided as her expression became one of sympathy.

Now that the excitement was over, mostly, Harry started to tell them about Colin, but Hermione interrupted.

“We already know…” Hermione said, “we heard Professor McGonagall telling Professor Flitwick this morning.”

“There’s something else,” said Harry, “Dobby came to visit me in the middle of the night.”

Ron and Hermione looked up, amazed. Harry told them everything Dobby had told him… or hadn’t told him. Hermione and Ron listened with their mouths open.

“The Chamber of Secrets has been opened _before_?” Hermione asked.

“Wish Dobby’d told you what kind of monster’s in there,” Ron said, “I want to know how come nobody’s noticed it sneaking around the school.”

“Maybe it can make itself invisible,” said Hermione, “Or maybe it can disguise itself… pretend to be a suit of armor or something… I’ve read about Chameleon Ghouls-”

“You read too much, Hermione,” said Ron and looked at Harry.

“So Dobby stopped us from getting on the train and broke your arm…” He shook his head, “You know what, Harry? If he doesn’t stop trying to save your life he’s going to kill you.”

The news that Colin Creevey had been attacked and was now lying as though dead in the hospital wing had spread through the entire school by Monday morning. The air was suddenly thick with rumor and suspicion. The first years were now moving around the castle in tight-knit groups, as though scared they would be attacked   
if they ventured forth alone.

Ginny Weasley, who sat next to Colin Creevey in Charms, was distraught, but Harry felt that Fred and George were going the wrong way about cheering her up. They were taking turns covering themselves with fur or boils and jumping out at her from behind statues. They only stopped when Percy, apoplectic with rage, told them he was going to write to Mrs. Weasley and tell her Ginny was having nightmares.

Meanwhile, hidden from the teachers, a roaring trade in talismans, amulets, and other protective devices was sweeping the school. Neville Longbottom bought a large, evil-smelling green onion, a pointed purple crystal, and a rotting newt tail before the other Gryffindor boys pointed out that he was in no danger; he was   
a pureblood, and therefore unlikely to be attacked.

“They went for Filch first,” Neville said, his round face fearful, “And everyone knows I’m almost a Squib.”


	9. The Dueling Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John arrives at the Delacour household and meets Fleur's mother. Harry learns he's a parselmouth.

Chapter 9: The Dueling Club

In the second week of December Professor McGonagall came around as usual, collecting names of those who would be staying at school for Christmas. Harry, Ron, and Hermione signed her list; they had heard that Malfoy was staying, and while they believed John was right in that Draco wasn’t the Heir of Slytherin… they still wanted to keep an eye on him in case Draco was an assistant or something. John had told them that he wouldn’t be staying at school this time, because he was invited by the french man whose daughter he had saved for Christmas. John’s eyes were twinkling as well when he told them that which is unusual for him and made them think he wasn’t going just to perform a magical check-up on the girl.

Later, at Snape’s class…

Potions lessons took place in one of the large dungeons. Thursday afternoon’s lesson proceeded in the usual way. Twenty cauldrons stood steaming between the wooden desks, on which stood brass scales and jars of ingredients. Snape prowled through the fumes, making waspish remarks about the Gryffindors’ work while the Slytherins sniggered appreciatively. Draco Malfoy, who was Snape’s favorite student, kept flicking puffer-fish eyes at Ron and Harry, who knew that if they retaliated they would get detention faster than you could say “Unfair.”

Harry’s Swelling Solution was far too runny, but he had his mind on more important things. He was wondering what a French version of Christmas would be and was kinda jealous of John. He hardly listened as Snape paused to sneer at his watery potion. When Snape turned and walked off to bully Neville, Hermione caught Harry’s eye and nodded. John had given them a kind of device that if stuck on someone it’d inform them of whatever the target was up to.

Harry ducked swiftly down behind his cauldron, pulled one of Fred’s Filibuster fireworks out of his pocket, and gave it a quick prod with his wand. The firework began to fizz and sputter. Knowing he had only seconds, Harry straightened up, took aim, and lobbed it into the air; it landed right on target in Goyle’s cauldron.

Goyle’s potion, showering the whole class. People shrieked as splashes of the Swelling Solution hit them. Malfoy got a faceful and his nose began to swell like a balloon; Goyle blundered around, his hands over his eyes, which had expanded to the size of a dinner plate… Snape was trying to restore calm and find out what had happened. Through the confusion, Harry saw Hermione slip quietly next to Draco and press the object John gave them into his neck.

“Silence! SILENCE!” Snape roared, “Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draught… when I find out who did this…”

Harry tried not to laugh as he watched Malfoy hurry forward, his head drooping with the weight of a nose like a small melon. As half the class lumbered up to Snape’s desk, some weighted down with arms like clubs, others unable to talk through gigantic puffed up lips, Harry saw Hermione slide back next to their table.

When everyone had taken a swig of antidote and the various swellings had subsided, Snape swept over to Goyle’s cauldron and scooped out the twisted black remains of the firework. There was a sudden hush.

“If I ever find out who threw this,” Snape whispered, “I shall make sure that person is expelled.”

Harry arranged his face into what he hoped was a puzzled expression. Snape was looking right at him, and the bell that rang ten minutes later could not have been more welcome.

“He knew it was me,” Harry told Ron and Hermione as they hurried back to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom that had the ‘magic mirror’ given to them by John which was connected to the device Hermione pressed into Draco’s neck, “I could tell.”

Hermione tapped a few times on the mirror causing it to start flashing indicating it was powering on and establishing a connection with the device. Unfortunately, due to how big the castle is and how old the mirror and Draco’s new neck-decoration were… it’ll be quite a while.

“It’ll be connected in two weeks,” she said remembering what John told her, “For now we just have to wait.”

“Snape can’t prove it was you,” said Ron reassuringly to Harry, “What can he do?”

“Knowing Snape, something foul,” said Harry watching the mirror flash repeatedly.

A week later, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were walking across the entrance hall when they saw a small knot of people gathered around the notice board, reading a piece of parchment that had just been pinned up. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas beckoned them over, looking excited.

“They’re starting a Dueling Club!” said Seamus, “First meeting tonight! I wouldn’t mind dueling lessons; they might come in handy one of these days…”

“What, you reckon Slytherin’s monster can duel?” said Ron, but he, too, read the sign with interest.

“Could be useful,” he said to Harry and Hermione as they went into dinner, “Shall we go?”

Harry and Hermione were all for it, so at eight o’clock that evening they hurried back to the Great Hall. The long dining tables had vanished and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black once more and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.

“I wonder who’ll be teaching us?” said Hermione as they edged into the chattering crowd, “Someone told me Flitwick was a dueling champion when he was young… maybe it’ll be him.”

“Someone told me that Flitwick admitted Constantine would have a high chance of beating him in a dual,” said a voice from behind them. They turned and saw Ritchie standing there which was odd as there was only supposed second graders here.

“What are you doing here, Ritchie?” Harry asked confused.

“Oh,” Ritchie said revealing Piper, “She was lost, and I volunteered to show her the way.”

“I feel like an idiot now that I know it’s in the Great Hall,” Piper sighed.

“Good luck,” Ritchie said as he left the Great Hall with reluctance as he wanted to watch it for himself.

“As long as the teacher’s not-” Harry began as an answer to Hermione’s question, but he ended on a groan: Gilderoy Lockhart was walking onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum and accompanied by none other than Snape, wearing his usual black.

Lockhart waved an arm for silence and called, “Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!”

“Now,” Lockhart explained, “Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions… for full details, see my published works.”

“Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape,” said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile, “He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don’t want any of you youngsters to worry… you’ll still have your Potions master when I’m through with him, never fear!”

“Wouldn’t it be good if they finished each other off ?” Ron muttered in Harry’s ear.

Snape’s upper lip was curling. Harry wondered why Lockhart was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at him like that he’d have been running as fast as he could in the opposite direction.

Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.

“As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position,” Lockhart told the silent crowd, “On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Harry murmured, watching Snape baring his teeth.

“One… two… three…”

Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried: “ Expelliarmus! ” There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.

Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins cheered. Hermione was dancing on tiptoes.

“Do you think he’s alright?” she squealed through her fingers.

“Who cares?” said Harry and Ron together.

Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off and his wavy hair was standing on end.

“Well, there you have it!” he said, tottering back onto the platform, “That was a Disarming Charm… as you see, I’ve lost my wand… ah, thank you, Miss Brown… yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don’t mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy… however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see…”

Snape was looking murderous. Possibly Lockhart had noticed, because he said, “Enough demonstrating! I’m going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you’d like to help me…”

They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart teamed Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchley, but Snape reached Harry and Ron first.

“Time to split up the dream team, I think,” he sneered, “Weasley, you can partner Finnigan. Potter-”

Harry moved automatically toward Hermione.

“I don’t think so,” said Snape, smiling coldly, “ Mr. Malfoy, come over here. Let’s see what you make of the famous Potter. And you, Miss Granger… you can partner Miss Bulstrode.”

Malfoy strutted over, smirking. Behind him walked a Slytherin girl who reminded Harry of a picture he’d seen in Holidays with Hags. She was large and square and her heavy jaw jutted aggressively. Hermione gave her a weak smile that she did not return.

“Face your partners!” called Lockhart, back on the platform, “And bow!”

Malfoy and Harry barely inclined their heads, not taking their eyes off each other before they stood up straight again and walked a few paces from each other.

“Wands at the ready!” shouted Lockhart. “When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents… only to disarm them… we don’t want any accidents… one… two… three…”

Harry swung his wand high, but Malfoy had already started on “two”: His spell hit Harry so hard he felt as though he’d been hit over the head with a saucepan. He stumbled, but everything still seemed to be working, and wasting no more time, Harry pointed his wand straight at Malfoy and shouted, “ Rictusempra !”

A jet of silver light hit Malfoy in the stomach and he doubled up, wheezing.

“ I said disarm only !” Lockhart shouted in alarm over the heads of the battling crowd, as Malfoy sank to his knees; Harry had hit him with a Tickling Charm, and he could barely move for laughing. Harry hung back, with a vague feeling it would be unsporting to bewitch Malfoy while he was on the floor, but this was a mistake; gasping for breath, Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry’s knees, choked, “Tarantallegra!” and the next second Harry’s legs began to jerk around out of his control in a kind of quickstep.

“Stop! Stop!” screamed Lockhart.

“ Finite Incantatem !” Snape shouted returning Malfoy to normal with his clothes on him somehow. Both Harry and Malfoy looked up.

A haze of greenish smoke was hovering over the scene. Both Neville and Justin were lying on the floor, panting; Ron was holding up an ashen-faced Seamus, apologizing for whatever his broken wand had done; Dean Thomas had Piper’s wand in hand; but Hermione and Millicent Bulstrode were still moving; Millicent had Hermione in a headlock and Hermione was whimpering in pain; both their wands lay forgotten on the floor. Harry leapt forward and pulled Millicent off. It was difficult: She was a lot bigger than he was.

“Dear, dear,” said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels, “Up you go, Macmillan… Careful there, Miss Fawcett… Pinch it hard, it’ll stop bleeding in a second, Boot…”

“I think I’d better teach you how to block unfriendly spells,” said Lockhart, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and looked quickly away, “Let’s have a volunteer pair… Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you-”

“A bad idea, Professor Lockhart,” said Snape, gliding over like a large and malevolent bat, “Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We’ll be sending what’s left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox.”

Neville’s round, pink face went pinker.

“How about Malfoy and Potter?” said Snape with a twisted smile.

“Excellent idea!” said Lockhart, gesturing Harry and Malfoy into the middle of the hall as the crowd backed away to give them room.

“Now, Harry,” said Lockhart, “When Draco points his wand at you, you do this.”

He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action, and dropped it. Snape smirked as Lockhart quickly picked it up, saying, “Whoops… my wand is a little overexcited…”

Snape moved closer to Malfoy, bent down, and whispered something in his ear. Malfoy smirked, too. Harry looked up nervously at Lockhart and said, “Professor, could you show me that blocking thing again?”

“Scared?” muttered Malfoy, so that Lockhart couldn’t hear him.

“You wish,” said Harry out of the corner of his mouth.

Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder, “Just do what I did, Harry!”

“What, drop my wand?” Harry asked dryly.

But Lockhart wasn’t listening.

“Three… two… one… go!” he shouted.

Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed, “Serpensortia!”

The end of his wand exploded. Harry watched, aghast, as a long black snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the floor between them, and raised itself, ready to strike. There were screams as the crowd backed swiftly away, clearing the floor.

“Don’t move, Potter,” said Snape lazily, clearly enjoying the sight of Harry standing motionless, eye to eye with the angry snake, “I’ll get rid of it…”

“Allow me!” shouted Lockhart. He brandished his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithered straight toward Justin Finch-Fletchley and raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised  
to strike.

Harry wasn’t sure what made him do it. He wasn’t even aware of deciding to do it. All he knew was that his legs were carrying him forward as though he was on casters and that he had shouted stupidly at the snake, “Leave him alone!”

And miraculously… inexplicably… the snake slumped to the floor, docile as a thick, black garden hose, its eyes now on Harry. Harry felt the fear drain out of  
him. He knew the snake wouldn’t attack anyone now, though how he knew it, he couldn’t have explained.

He looked up at Justin, grinning, expecting to see Justin looking relieved, or puzzled, or even grateful… but certainly not angry and scared.

“What do you think you’re playing at?” he shouted, and before Harry could say anything, Justin had turned and stormed out of the hall.

Snape stepped forward, waved his wand, and the snake vanished in a small puff of black smoke. Snape, too, was looking at Harry in an unexpected way: It was a shrewd and calculating look, and Harry didn’t like it. He was also dimly aware of an ominous muttering all around the walls. Then he felt a tugging on the back of his robes.

“Come on,” said Ron’s voice in his ear, “Move… come on… ”

Ron steered Harry out of the hall, Hermione hurrying alongside them. As they went through the doors, the people on either side drew away as though they were frightened of catching something. Harry didn’t have a clue what was going on, and neither Ron nor Hermione explained anything until they had dragged him all the way up to the empty Gryffindor common room. Then Ron pushed Harry into an armchair and said, “You’re a Parselmouth. Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I’m a what?” Harry asked confused.

“ A Parselmouth !” said Ron. “You can talk to snakes!”

“I know,” said Harry, “I mean, that’s only the second time I’ve ever done it. I accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin Dudley at the zoo once… long story… but it was telling me it had never seen Brazil and I sort of set it free without meaning to… that was before I knew I was a wizard-”

“A boa constrictor told you it had never seen Brazil?” Ron repeated faintly.

“So?” said Harry. “I bet loads of people here can do it.”

“Oh, no they can’t,” said Ron, “It’s not a very common gift. This is bad, Harry,”

“What’s bad?” said Harry, starting to feel quite angry, “What’s wrong with everyone? Listen, if I hadn’t told that snake not to attack Justin-”

“Oh, that’s what you said to it?”

“What d’you mean? You were there… you heard me-”

“I heard you speaking Parseltongue,” said Ron, “Snake language. You could have been saying anything… no wonder Justin panicked, you sounded like you were egging the snake on or something… it was creepy, you know-”

Harry gaped at him.

“I spoke a different language? But… I didn’t realize… how can I speak a language without knowing I can speak it?”

Ron shook his head. Both he and Hermione were looking as though someone had died. Harry couldn’t see what was so terrible.

“D’you want to tell me what’s wrong with stopping a massive snake biting off Justin’s head?” he said, “What does it matter how I did it as long as Justin doesn’t have to join the Headless Hunt?”

“It matters,” said Hermione, speaking at last in a hushed voice, “because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That’s why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent.”

Harry’s mouth fell open.

“Exactly,” said Ron, “And now the whole school’s going to think you’re his great-great-great-great-grandson or something-”

“But I’m not,” said Harry, with a panic he couldn’t quite explain.

“You’ll find that hard to prove,” said Hermione, “He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be.”

With John, just outside the Delacour house in France…

He stepped out of the cab and picked up his bag of clothes. He was back to wearing his tan hooded coat, white button down shirt, red tie loosely tied around his neck, black dress pants, and black dress shoes. He also held up his right hand which had a card with the Delacour address before looking at the house. He inhaled deeply before exhaling to prepare for what’s to come. He then walked forward up the steps to the front door. However, just before he could ring the doorbell, the door swung open. He didn’t know what he was expecting, so he was neither surprised or disappointed when he saw a woman with silvery-blonde hair standing at the door. She was as beautiful as Fleur, but obviously older.

“Dear!” the woman called into the house with a French accent, “There’s a blonde hooligan here!”

“Hooligan?” asked Monsieur Delacour as he walked up to the front door. However, when he saw John he smiled.

“Monsieur John!” Monsieur Delacour said as he grasped John’s hand, “Bienvenue chez nous!”

“Sorry,” John apologized, “Monsieur Delacour, but I still don’t speak French.”

“Who is this boy?” Madam Delacour asked confused.

“He is the exorciste that saved our fille,” Monsieur Delacour replied.

Madam Delacour then looked at John before pulling him into a crushing hug. She absolutely refused to let him go, because she was overwhelmed in happiness to meet the one responsible for saving her daughter.

“Merci beaucoup!” Madam Delacour said, “Je ne sais pas comment nous pouvons vous rembourser!”

“Honey,” Monsieur Delacour said gently pulling Madam Delacour off of John, “Let the exorciste breath.”

John gasped in some breath now that his face was free from being suffocated by Madam Delacour’s breasts. After that, John was finally able to enter the Delacour home. As soon as he was inside, his bag was magically taken out of his hands before it floated through the house. Probably to where he was going to be staying. However, his attention wasn’t on that as he saw Fleur delacour walking up. She stopped short when she saw John.

“Who are you?” Fleur asked as she took in John’s appearance.

Back at Hogwarts…

Harry lay awake for hours that night. Through a gap in the curtains around his four-poster he watched snow starting to drift past the tower window and wondered…

Could he be a descendant of Salazar Slytherin? He didn’t know anything about his father’s family, after all. The Dursleys had always forbidden questions about his wizarding relatives.

Quietly, Harry tried to say something in Parseltongue. The words wouldn’t come. It seemed he had to be face-to-face with a snake to do it.

But I’m in Gryffindor , Harry thought, The Sorting Hat wouldn’t have put me in here if I had Slytherin blood…

Ah, said a nasty little voice in his brain, but the Sorting Hat wanted to put you in Slytherin, don’t you remember?

Harry turned over. He’d see Justin the next day in Herbology and he’d explain that he’d been calling the snake off, not egging it on, which(he thought angrily, pummeling his pillow)any fool should have realized.

By next morning, however, the snow that had begun in the night had turned into a blizzard so thick that the last Herbology lesson of the term was canceled: Professor Sprout wanted to fit socks and scarves on the Mandrakes, a tricky operation she would entrust to no one else, now that it was so important for the Mandrakes to grow quickly and revive Mrs. Norris and Colin Creevey.

Harry fretted about this next to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, while Ron and Hermione used their time off to play a game of wizard chess.

“For heaven’s sake, Harry,” said Hermione, exasperated, as one of Ron’s bishops wrestled her knight off his horse and dragged him off the board, “Go and find Justin if it’s so important to you.”

So Harry got up and left through the portrait hole, wondering where Justin might be.

The castle was darker than it usually was in daytime because of the thick, swirling gray snow at every window. Shivering, Harry walked past classrooms where lessons were taking place, catching snatches of what was happening within. Professor McGonagall was shouting at someone who, by the sound of it, had turned his friend into a badger. Resisting the urge to take a look, Harry walked on by, thinking that Justin might be using his free time to catch up on some work, and deciding to check the library first.

A group of the Hufflepuffs who should have been in Herbology were indeed sitting at the back of the library, but they didn’t seem to be working. Between the long lines of high bookshelves, Harry could see that their heads were close together and they were having what looked like an absorbing conversation. He couldn’t see whether Justin was among them. He was walking toward them when something of what they were saying met his ears, and he paused to listen, hidden in the Invisibility section.

“So anyway,” a stout boy was saying, “I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. I mean to say, if Potter’s marked him down as his next victim, it’s best if he keeps a low profile for a while. Of course, Justin’s been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter he was Muggle-born. Justin actually told him he’d been down for Eton. That’s not the kind of thing you bandy about with Slytherin’s heir on the loose, is it?”

“You definitely think it is Potter, then, Ernie?” said a girl with blonde pigtails anxiously.

“Oh come on,” Piper spoke up, “There’s no way Harry’s the heir to Slytherin. Sure the hissing he did is freaky, but that doesn’t mean he’s on the warpath for muggle-borns.”

“That’s easy for you to say, Piper,” said another Hufflepuff, “you’re born of a witch-centered family. Also, you’re American.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Piper exclaimed.

“Hannah,” interrupted the stout boy solemnly, “he’s a Parselmouth. Everyone knows that’s the mark of a Dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent one who could talk to snakes? They called Slytherin himself Serpent-tongue.”

There was some heavy murmuring at this, and Ernie went on, “Remember what was written on the wall? Enemies of the Heir, Beware. Potter had some sort of run-in with Filch. Next thing we know, Filch’s cat’s attacked. That first year, Creevey, was annoying Potter at the Quidditch match, taking pictures of him while he was lying in the mud. Next thing we know… Creevey’s been attacked.”

“He always seems so nice, though,” said Hannah uncertainly, “and, well, he’s the one who made You-Know-Who disappear. He can’t be all bad, can he?”

Ernie lowered his voice mysteriously, the Hufflepuffs bent closer, and Harry edged nearer so that he could catch Ernie’s words.

“No one knows how he survived that attack by You-Know-Who. I mean to say, he was only a baby when it happened. He should have been blasted into smithereens. Only a really powerful Dark wizard could have survived a curse like that,” He dropped his voice until it was barely more than a whisper, and said, “ That’s probably why You-Know-Who wanted to kill him in the first place. Didn’t want another Dark Lord competing with him. I wonder what other powers Potter’s been hiding?”

Harry couldn’t take anymore. Clearing his throat loudly, he stepped out from behind the bookshelves. If he hadn’t been feeling so angry, he would have found the sight that greeted him funny: Every one of the Hufflepuffs looked as though they had been Petrified by the sight of him, and the color was draining out of Ernie’s face. Only Piper wasn’t afraid.

Hello,” said Harry. “I’m looking for Justin Finch-Fletchley.”

The Hufflepuffs’ worst fears had clearly been confirmed. All of them except for Piper looked fearfully at Ernie. Piper just sighed.

“What do you want with him?” said Ernie in a quavering voice.

“I wanted to tell him what really happened with that snake at the Dueling Club,” said Harry.

Ernie bit his white lips and then, taking a deep breath, said, “We were all there. We saw what happened.”

“Then you noticed that after I spoke to it, the snake backed off?” said Harry.

“All I saw,” said Ernie stubbornly, though he was trembling as he spoke, “was you speaking Parseltongue and chasing the snake toward Justin.”

“Are you as dumb as you look?” Piper asked incredulously, “The snake targeted Justin before Harry even spoke!!”

“Thank you Piper,” Harry nodded before he added to Ernie, “I didn’t even touch him!”

“It was a very near miss,” said Ernie, “And in case you’re getting ideas,”

“I might tell you that you can trace my family back through nine generations of witches and warlocks and my blood’s as pure as anyone’s,” Ernie added, “so-”

“I don’t care what sort of blood you’ve got!” said Harry fiercely, “Why would I want to attack Muggle-borns?”

“I’ve heard you hate those Muggles you live with,” said Ernie swiftly.

“It’s not possible to live with the Dursleys and not hate them,” said Harry, “I’d like to see you try it.”

He turned on his heel and stormed out of the library, earning himself a reproving glare from Madam Pince, who was polishing the gilded cover of a large spellbook.

Piper glared at her fellow Hufflepuffs before she hurried after Harry.

Harry blundered up the corridor, barely noticing where he was going, he was in such a fury. The result was that he walked into something very large and solid, which knocked him backward onto the floor.

“Oh, hello, Hagrid,” Harry said, looking up.

Hagrid’s face was entirely hidden by a woolly, snow-covered balaclava, but it couldn’t possibly be anyone else, as he filled most of the corridor in his moleskin overcoat. A dead rooster was hanging from one of his massive, gloved hands.

“All righ’, Harry?” he said, pulling up the balaclava so he could speak, “Why aren’t yeh in class?”

“Canceled,” said Harry, getting up, “What’re you doing in here?”

Hagrid held up the limp rooster.

“Second one killed this term,” he explained, “It’s either foxes or a Blood-Suckin’ Bugbear, an’ I need the headmaster’s permission ter put a charm around the hen coop.”

He peered more closely at Harry from under his thick, snow flecked eyebrows.

“Yeh sure yeh’re all righ’? Yeh look all hot an’ bothered-”

Harry couldn’t bring himself to repeat what Ernie and the rest of the Hufflepuffs had been saying about him.

“It was my fellow housemates,” Piper said startling Harry as she came to a stop next to Potterm, “They were saying extremely mean things about him. Well, one of them was. Everyone but me believed him.”

“Cheeky little git,” Hagrid grumbled, “don’ you pay them any mind Harry. Yeh hear meh?”

“I won’t,” Harry said, “I’d better get going, Hagrid, it’s Transfiguration next and I’ve got to pick up my books.”

“Hey,” Hagrid said causing Harry to pause, “Where’s John? Term ain’t over yet.”

“Dumbledore gave him permission to start his Christmas holiday early,” Harry explained, “so he could get back to feeling like himself and forget all about the hate people were directing his way.”

“Ah,” Hagrid said nodding, “Alrigh’ Harry. Good luck with class.”

He walked off, his mind still full of what Ernie had said about him. Piper hurried after him, because she knew he needed a friend right now even if he wanted to be alone.

“Justin’s been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter he was Muggle-born…”

Harry stamped up the stairs and turned along another corridor, which was particularly dark; the torches had been extinguished by a strong, icy draft that was blowing through a loose windowpane. He was halfway down the passage when he tripped headlong over something lying on the floor. He heard Piper shriek behind him which startled him as he forgot about Piper entirely.

He turned to squint at what he’d fallen over and felt as though his stomach had dissolved.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying on the floor, rigid and cold, a look of shock frozen on his face, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. And that wasn’t all. Next to him was another figure, the strangest sight Harry had ever seen.

It was Nearly Headless Nick, no longer pearly-white and transparent, but black and smoky, floating immobile and horizontal, six inches off the floor. His head was half off and his face wore an expression of shock identical to Justin’s.

Harry got to his feet, his breathing fast and shallow, his heart doing a kind of drumroll against his ribs. He looked wildly up and down the deserted corridor and saw a line of spiders scuttling as fast as they could away from the bodies. The only sounds were the muffled voices of teachers from the classes on either side.

He could run, and no one would ever know he had been there. But he couldn’t just leave them lying here… Also, Piper was frozen in shock and unable to move. He couldn’t leave her alone. He had to get her moving, and get help. Would anyone believe he hadn’t had anything to do with this?

As he stood there, panicking, a door right next to him opened with a bang. Geeves the Poltergeist came shooting out.

“Why, it’s potty wee Potter!” cackled Geeves, knocking Harry’s glasses askew as he bounced past him, “What’s Potter up to? Why’s Potter lurking-”

Peeves stopped, halfway through a mid air somersault. Upside down, he spotted Justin and Nearly Headless Nick. He flipped the right way up, filled his lungs and, before Harry could stop him, screamed, “ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!”

Fortunately, Piper unfroze. Unfortunately, there was no time to run or go and quietly get a teacher.

Crash—crash—crash—door after door flew open along the corridor and people flooded out. For several long minutes, there was a scene of such confusion that Justin was in danger of being squashed and people kept standing in Nearly Headless Nick. Harry found himself pinned against the wall as the teachers shouted for quiet. Professor McGonagall came running, followed by her own class, one of whom still had black-and-white-striped hair. She used her wand to set off a loud bang, which restored silence, and ordered everyone back into their classes. No sooner had the scene cleared somewhat than Ernie the Hufflepuff arrived, panting, on the scene.

“Caught in the act!” Ernie yelled, his face stark white, pointing his finger dramatically at Harry.

“That will do, Macmillan!” said Professor McGonagall sharply.

Geeves was bobbing overhead, now grinning wickedly, surveying the scene; Geeves always loved chaos. As the teachers bent over Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, examining them, Geeves broke into song:

“Oh, Potter, you rotter, oh, what have you done,   
You’ re killing off students, you think it’s good fun-”

“That’s enough, Geeves!” barked Professor McGonagall, and Peeves zoomed away backward, with his tongue out at Harry.

Justin was carried up to the hospital wing by Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department, but nobody seemed to know what to do for Nearly Headless Nick. In the end, Professor McGonagall conjured a large fan out of thin air, which she gave to Ernie with instructions to waft Nearly Headless Nick up the stairs. This Ernie did, fanning Nick along like a silent black hovercraft. This left Harry and Piper alone with Professor McGonagall.

“This way, Potter,” she said, “you too, Miss Halliwell.”

“Professor,” said Harry at once, “I swear I didn’t-”

“This is out of my hands, Potter,” said Professor McGonagall curtly.

“But Professor-” Piper began.

“I’m sorry Miss Halliwell,” Professor McGonagall said, “but Potter was at the scene of both crimes. I have no choice. It is up to the Headmaster now.”

They marched in silence around a corner and she stopped before a large and extremely ugly stone gargoyle.

“Lemon drop!” she said. This was evidently a password, because the gargoyle sprang suddenly to life and hopped aside revealing a short stairwell. Even full of dread for what was coming, Harry couldn’t fail to be amazed. As soon as Professor McGonagall, Harry, and Piper stepped on it the stairwell began growing out of the floor in a slow spin turning it into a spiral staircase. Similar to the Jack and the Beanstalk stories. Eventually they reached the top which was next to a landing. Harry saw a gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin.

He knew now where they were being taken. This must be where Dumbledore lived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations(given by google translate):  
> English to French  
> 1\. Bienvenue chez nous --> welcome to our home
> 
> 2\. Merci beaucoup --> thank you so much
> 
> 3\. Je ne sais pas comment nous pouvons vous rembourser --> I don't know how we can repay you
> 
> 4\. fille --> daughter
> 
> 5\. exorciste --> exorcist


	10. Intruders and Visions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John saves Fleur again, Harry and Piper talk to Dumbledore, a diary is found.

Chapter 10: Intruders and Visions

They stepped off the stone staircase at the top, and Professor McGonagall rapped on the door. It opened silently and they entered. Professor McGonagall told Harry and Piper to wait and left them there, alone together..

Harry looked around. One thing was certain: of all the teachers’ offices Harry had visited so far this year, Dumbledore’s was by far the most interesting. If he hadn’t been scared out of his wits that he was about to be thrown out of school, he would have been very pleased to have a chance to look around it.

It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. There was also an enormous, claw-footed desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby, tattered wizard’s hat… the Sorting Hat.

Harry hesitated. He cast a wary eye around the sleeping witches and wizards on the walls. Surely it couldn’t hurt if he took the hat down and tried it on again? Just to see… just to make sure it had put him in the right House…

He walked quietly around the desk, lifted the hat from its shelf, and lowered it slowly onto his head. It was much too large and slipped down over his eyes, just as it had done the last time he’d put it on. Harry stared at the black inside of the hat, waiting.

Piper on the other hand, went to look around the room out of curiosity. When she saw the sword of Gryffindor, she widened her eyes at it surprised that a sword would still be in the castle… well a sword that wasn’t part of the many armors around the castle. Especially, since swords are for close quarters combat. Wizards are all about long distance just like modern day muggles. She then looked back at Harry when she heard him speak up.

“You’re wrong,” he said aloud to the still and silent hat. It didn’t move. Harry backed away, watching it. Then a strange, gagging noise behind him made him wheel around. Piper also looked at the cause of the noise.

They weren’t alone after all. Standing on a golden perch behind the door was a decrepit-looking bird that resembled a half-plucked turkey. Harry stared at it and the bird looked balefully back, making its gagging noise again. Harry thought it looked very ill. Its eyes were dull and, even as Harry watched, a couple more feathers fell out of its tail.

Harry was just thinking that all he needed was for Dumbledore’s pet bird to die while he was alone in the office with it, when the bird burst into flames. Piper cried out in shock at that as she had never seen a bird catch fire before.

Harry also yelled in shock and backed away into the desk. He looked feverishly around in case there was a glass of water somewhere but couldn’t see one; the bird, meanwhile, had become a fireball; it gave one loud shriek and next second there was nothing but a smoldering pile of ash on the floor.

The office door opened. Dumbledore came in, looking very somber.

“Professor,” Harry and Piper gasped in unison, “Your bird… I couldn’t do anything… he just caught fire…”

To their astonishment, Dumbledore smiled.

“About time, too,” he said, “He’s been looking dreadful for days; I’ve been telling him to get a move on.”

He chuckled at the stunned look on their faces.

“Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry and Piper. Phoenixes burst into flame when it is time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes. Watch him…”

They looked down in time to see a tiny, wrinkled, newborn bird poke its head out of the ashes. It was quite as ugly as the old one.

“It’s a shame you had to see him on a Burning Day,” said Dumbledore, seating himself behind his desk, “He’s really very handsome most of the time, wonderful red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make highly faithful pets.”

In the shock of Fawkes catching fire, Harry and Piper had forgotten what they were there for, but it all came back to him as Dumbledore settled himself in the high chair behind the desk and fixed Harry with his penetrating, light-blue stare.

Before Dumbledore could speak another word, however, the door of the office flew open with an almighty bang and Hagrid burst in, a wild look in his eyes, his balaclava perched on top of his shaggy black head and the dead rooster still swinging from his hand.

“It wasn’ Harry, Professor Dumbledore!” said Hagrid urgently, “I was talkin’ ter him seconds before that kid was found, he never had time, sir-”

Dumbledore tried to say something, but Hagrid went ranting on, waving the rooster around in his agitation, sending feathers everywhere.

“it can’t’ve bin him, I’ll swear it in front o’ the Ministry o’ Magic if I have to-”

“Hagrid, I-”

“yeh’ve got the wrong boy, sir, I _know_ Harry never-”

“ _Hagrid_!” said Dumbledore loudly, “I do _not_ think that Harry attacked those people.”

“Oh,” said Hagrid, the rooster falling limply at his side, “Right. I’ll wait outside then, Headmaster.”

And he stomped out looking embarrassed.

“You don’t think it was me, Professor?” Harry repeated hopefully as Dumbledore brushed rooster feathers off his desk.

“No, Harry, I don’t,” said Dumbledore, though his face was somber again, “But I still want to talk to you.”

Before Harry could reply, Dumbledore turned towards Piper with a raised eyebrow.

“Why exactly are you here Miss Halliwell?” Albus asked.

“I was there with Harry at the second crime scene,” Piper replied, “We both found Justin…”

Dumbledore nodded in understanding before turning back to Harry.

Harry waited nervously while Dumbledore considered him, the tips of his long fingers together.

“I must ask you, Harry, whether there is anything you’d like to tell me,” he said gently, “Anything at all.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. He thought of the disembodied voice he had heard twice and remembered what Ron had said: _“Hearing voices no one else can hear isn’t a good sign, even in the wizarding world.”_ He thought, too, about what everyone was saying about him, and his growing dread that he was somehow connected with Salazar Slytherin…

“No,” said Harry, “There isn’t anything, Professor…”

The double attack on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick turned what had hitherto been nervousness into real panic. Curiously, it was Nearly Headless Nick’s fate that seemed to worry people most. What could possibly do that to a ghost? People asked each other; what terrible power could harm someone who was already dead? There was almost a stampede to book seats on the Hogwarts Express so that students could go home for Christmas.

“At this rate, we’ll be the only ones left,” Ron told Harry and Hermione, “Us, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. What a jolly holiday it’s going to be.”

Crabbe and Goyle, who always did whatever Malfoy did, had signed up to stay over the holidays, too. But Harry was glad that most people were leaving. He was tired of people skirting around him in the corridors, as though he were about to sprout fangs or spit poison; tired of all the muttering, pointing, and hissing as he passed.

Fred and George, however, found all this very funny. They went out of their way to march ahead of Harry down the corridors, shouting, “Make way for the Heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through…”

Percy was deeply disapproving of this behavior.

“It is _not_ a laughing matter,” he said coldly.

“Oh, get out of the way, Percy,” said Fred, “Harry’s in a hurry.”

“Yeah, he’s off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with his fanged servant,” said George, chortling.

Ginny didn’t find it amusing either.

“Oh, _don’t_ ,” she wailed every time Fred asked Harry loudly who he was planning to attack next, or when George pretended to ward Harry off with a large clove of garlic when they met.

Harry didn’t mind; it made him feel better that Fred and George, at least, thought the idea of his being Slytherin’s heir was quite ludicrous. But their antics seemed to be aggravating Draco Malfoy, who looked increasingly sour each time he saw them at it.

“It’s because he’s _bursting_ to say he knows who the Heir really is,” said Ron knowingly, “You know how loyal he is to the Slytherin ways. He probably dreams of being Slytherin’s loyal attack dog.”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” said Hermione in a satisfied tone, “The magic mirror’s connection is nearly completely established.”

At last the term ended, and a silence deep as the snow on the grounds descended on the castle. Harry found it peaceful, rather than gloomy, and enjoyed the fact that he, Hermione, and the Weasleys had the run of Gryffindor Tower, which meant they could play Exploding Snap loudly without bothering anyone, and practice dueling in private. Fred, George, and Ginny had chosen to stay at school rather than visit Bill in Egypt with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Percy, who disapproved of what he termed their childish behavior, didn’t spend much time in the Gryffindor common room. He had already told them pompously that he was only staying over Christmas because it was his duty as a prefect to support the teachers during this troubled time.

**With John Constantine, at the Delacour household…**

John laid down in the bed he was borrowing as he tossed and turned due to a very strange dream was having. The room was fairly bare as it was reserved for guests only. However, it had a wardrobe, a dresser, a walk in closet, obviously a bed, and a couple of windows which had fancy-looking curtains over them. The bed was designed just as fancy and was a queen sized bed. It was queen sized, because the Delacours usually have the room ready for whatever couple they invite to stay. The covers were white, grey, and had a brown heavy comforter on it.

This time, John dreamt of a young man that looked like Viggo Mortensen with neck-long black hair, a shadow of a beard, and wore a brown vest over a brown shirt, dark colored pants, and had a black cloak on. At his hip was a generic steel sword in a scabbard. The man walked alone through a forest without any clear goal in mind. This man was clearly a nomad of sorts. However, the man suddenly stopped when he heard a scream. He whipped his head about as he looked for the cause of the scream. When he heard it again, he bolted in the direction the scream came from. As he ran, he pulled out his sword as he ran through the forest. Once he came across a dirt road he saw a raven haired woman in a blue dress backed against a tree with random villagers surrounding her with sticks, rocks, bows knocked with arrows, or rusty looking swords.

“Kill the witch!” yelled the leader who had sandy colored hair and evil eyes. He wore a baggy white shirt, brown pants, and bag-like shoes. In his hand was a rusty sword with knicks all over it.

The ring began to swing at the woman, but suddenly it stopped as something intercepted it causing a clanging sound. He looked to see what caused the clang and saw a steel sword blocking his sword from striking down the witch. He looked at the sword’s owner and saw a man with an angry expression on his face.

“Where is your honor?!” the young black-haired man demanded as he pressed on the rusty blade forcing the ring leader back.

“In our hands!” said one of the other hooligans.

“No!” the would-be-hero said, “Honor is not something you can hold. Honor is something you are either born with, or learn! Attacking a defenseless woman is the opposite of honorable!”

“But she’s a witch!” exclaimed another, “how else are we going to rid the world of their evil?!”

“Being a wielder of magic doesn’t automatically make one evil,” the stranger said angrily, “Magic in itself is NOT evil. It is how you use it that describes it. Just like with a sword. Yes magic can be used to kill, but it can also save lives.”

“Hell with this!” exclaimed the leader, “kill them both!”

At that the gang attacked, but the stranger was ready. He immediately swung his own blade shattering the leader’s rusty sword. The raven-haired woman had her hands up in order to keep a barrier active as the gang kept hacking at the barrier. However, when they heard the sound of shattering steel they stopped and looked at what caused the sound. They all watched as the gang leader began backing up in shock and fear.

“How… how… how…” the leader panicked.

“You didn’t take care of your blade,” the stranger said, “Now leave and never do anything like this again!!!”

The leader immediately ran off with the rest of his gang quickly following suit as they had no idea what to do due to their stupidity. As soon as the would-be-killers had vanished, the stranger sheathed his sword onto the scabbard at his left hip. The raven-haired woman allowed her barrier to fall as she turned to look at her rescuer.

“What is your name,” the woman asked, “or shall I call you stranger?”

The stranger then turned to look at her before holding out his right hand.l

“My name is Godric Gryffindor,” the man replied, “and who might you be fair maiden?”

“I am Rowena Ravenclaw,” the woman said smiling as she took Godric’s hand.

**Back with John…**

John bolted up straight as soon as his dream ended, and he could remember every detail. Just like before, it didn’t feel like a dream. It actually felt like he was actually there. Conveniently, the dream ended just before a knocking sound could be heard at his guest room.

“Excusez-moi,” said a french voice on the other end, “Monsieur Constantine. Breakfast is ready, and everyone is waiting for you downstairs.”

“Tell them I’m up and will be there shortly,” John replied as he swung his legs out of bed. As he got out of the bed, he could hear footsteps fading away. He walked over to his bag, but then noticed some other clothes. They were more fitting for a wealthy person in his opinion, but as he looked closer at the clothes he saw that a note had been attached to it. It read:

_Monsieur Constantine,_

_While you are staying at my household, I request that you wear more presentable clothes. Especially, since the French Minister of Magic will be visiting today._

_Monsieur Delacour_

With a groan John picked up the outfit after crumpling the note. About a minute or so later, John was now wearing clothes that just didn’t suit him in his mind. He was wearing essentially what was the brown version of matt smith’s 11th doctor outfit from season 7 part 2. However, he had his bowtie loosely tied because he doesn’t like the feeling of something tight around his throat. Makes him feel like he’s being choked.

**A few minutes later, in the dining room…**

Monsieur Delacour, Madam Delacour, Fleur Delacour, and a much younger girl that looked a little like Fleur were sitting at the table while they waited for John to appear. When John did arrive, they felt relieved because they were getting hungry. However, Monsieur Delacour’s relief turned into irritation when he saw how loose John’s bowtie was. With an irritated flick of his wand, the bowtie immediately un-tied itself and re-tied itself properly around John’s neck. That, of course, made him choke abit and accidantelly trip bonking his head on the dining chair before managing to right himself. However, John didn’t even notice as Fleur let out a giggle of amusement. Probably because he’s a bit oblivious, and probably because she head it with a cough. The mother knew of course, and so approved of the obvious fact her daughter was smitten with John. Just like john, Fleur was oblivious to her own feelings.

“So,” John said uncomfortably due to the bowtie, “what exactly do the french eat for breakfast?”

“French toast of course,” Madam Delacour smiled as plates of French Toast was placed before each of them, “What else would we have?”

Only Monsieur Delacour seemed displeased with the thought of having french toast for breakfast. He had been raised to have healthy foods for all meals after all, and he finds french toast to be the opposite of healthy. John merely shrugged, and began cutting into the food that suddenly appeared on the plates similar to the meals at Hogwarts. However, he was quickly kicked in the shin by Fleur. As he began to rub his shin he looked at Fleur who gestured with her head to her father who was getting red in the face due to anger.

“You’re a praying lot, aren’t you?” John stated more than asked with a dry tone.

However, instead of answering the Delacours clasped their hands and closed their eyes as they prayed silently in their heads. John on the other hand just dipped his index finger in his wine glass that was filled with water before making a quiet noise by moving his wet finger around on the edge of the wine glass. Fortunately, the noise was only loud enough for him to hear it so he didn’t irritate Monsieur Delacour any further than he had already.

_Who drinks water out of a wine glass_ thought John as he waited for the praying session to end. As soon as it had ended, the Delacour family had finished praying. John immediately resumed cutting into his food with the fork and knife. However, as soon as he had eaten one french toast the doorbell chimed.

“Voir qui c'est,” Monsieur Delacour said to a nearby servant.

“Oui Monsieur,” the servant said with a bow before walking to the entrance hall.

Before any of them could finish their breakfast, a loud bang could be heard from the entrance hall. John’s head immediately snapped to look at the entrance hall. Not one second later, a group marched into the room wielding what looked like shotguns, american auto-rifles, revolvers, and had a few grenades on their belts. They also wore dark outfits consisting off bullet-proof vests, balaclavas, black pants with pockets, and tight black long-sleeved shirts. They also had black jackets over that.

“Monsieur Delacour,” said the one in the lead as the others raised their auto-rifles at the servants and the rest of the Delacours, “Our employer has demanded that you give what you promised.”

“I have no id-” began Monsieur Delacour which prompted one of the intruders to shoot a maid in the forehead.

“Don’t fuck with us,” the leader said in a bored tone, “because each time you do, another person dies. Including your family.”

That prompted Monsieur Delacour’s face to grow red with rage, but other than that he didn’t say another word.

“Now then,” the leader said still bored, “our employer made a deal with you. In order for your wife to be cured from her illness, you were to hand over your first-born.”

“Alexandre?” Madame Delacour asked shocked as she looked at her husband, “Is this true?”

When Monsieur Delacour shifted his eyes down guiltily for a second Madame Delacour also grew angry. She proceeded to slap her husband across the face hard.

“I’m waiting…” the leader said impatiently.

Suddenly one of the intruders fell to one knee as he cried out in pain. Everyone looked to see that a butter knife was sticking out of his leg.

“Leave here and never return!” snarled John Constantine as he stood from the chair.

“If you know what’s good for you, kid,” the leader said aiming his rifle at John, “sit the fuck down and shut up.”

“You don’t scare me!” John said as sparks of flame ignited between his finger-tips, “Now go while you still breathe!”

The leader had enough of John’s bravado, so he proceeded to shoot at john. However, John was quick. He picked up a plate and used it to deflect the bullets back at the intruders wounding some and killing others. As soon as the leader stopped, John then threw it like a frisbee at the furthest intruder hitting him in the face. John proceeded to grab a spoon, step onto the table for a second, and leapt towards the leader. The leader widened his eyes in shock as he dropped his rifle to pull out his 9mm side-arm. Unfortunately for him, he was too slow. John managed to knock them both down. However, that didn’t stop the leader from firing a shot. Everyone was focused on the battle, that they didn’t notice the bullet hitting Fleur in the stomach. The battle was over as soon as John stood up. He looked down at his enemy with rage before bending down and wrenching the spoon out of the leader’s right eye socket. There was a stream of blood oozing from the eye as the leader held his hand to it instinctively.

“Leave now,” John said darkly as his eyes changed into dragons eyes for a split second, “and never bother this family again. If I were you, I’d get out of your current business and go live on a farm. However, If I come across you again only one of us would survive.”

The leader was then pulled to his feet as the other intruders began retreating. They didn’t even bother to pick up their fallen brethren as they left.

“This is not over boy!” the leader yelled angrily, “The next time we meet, there will be rivers of blood and it’ll all be your fault!”

As soon as they left, John turned as he looked at the carnage.

“Sorry about the mess,” John said as he looked at the Delacours who had their mouths open in shock, “I’ll fi-”

However, he stopped talking when he noticed that Fleur had slumped to the floor and was bleeding out. John immediately dropped the bloodied spoon and ran to Fleur’s aid.

“No!” John said as he held his hands over her stomach wound, “don’t you dare die on me after all that work during the exorcism!”

“Fleur!” exclaimed Madame and Monsieur Delacour as they rushed around the table.

“Can you save her,” Madame Delacour asked as she looked at John imploringly.

“I don’t know,” John admitted, “I’ve never dealt with bullet wounds before.”

“There must be something you can do!” shrieked Madame Delacour.

John raced around in his mind searching for anything, but the only thing he found would change all their lives forever.

“There’s one thing I can do,” John said slowly as he looked at the Delacours, “but if I do… everything will change in our lives.”

“Whatever it is, do it!” the Delacours said in unison.

“Very well,” John frowned as he drew a mystical symbol on Fleur’s forehead with her blood. He repeated the process on his own forehead.

“I’ve never used this before,” John warned them, “so there’s a chance it won’t work as intended.”

Without another word, he laid his forehead on her forehead and closed his eyes.

“Arbit ruwhiun lak,” John chanted in Arabic, “hayatuna tusbih wahida.”

“Yjb 'an tatashabak masayiruna 'iilaa al'abad,” John continued, “ln taqae 'abadaan li'ahad siwaa bedna albaed”

“‘Ana 'utalibuk, hubu hayatiun, 'ana 'aeish,” John finished.

Suddenly, both Fleur and John glowed so bright that the Delacours had to cover their eyes and turn away. As soon as the light had ebbed away, Fleur regained some color. However, she was still bleeding out. John had also lost some color and had fallen onto his back clearly weakened, in pain, and in the same state as Fleur… minus the bullet wound of course.

“Bought… time…” John gasped in pain, “Get… help… save… both of us.”

**Later, back at Hogwarts…**

Hermione had apparently vanished from everything one day during the Christmas holidays. There was a flurry of rumor about Hermione’s disappearance when the rest of the school arrived back from their Christmas holidays, because of course everyone thought that she had been attacked. the only way John knew she still existed was the fact that he was in the hospital wing due to the fact he was connected to Fleur and could feel her pain and occasionally her emotions. As soon as he had gotten back to school, he was admitted to the hospital wing immediately. While Madame Pomfrey had no clue as how to help him she knew enough that he wouldn’t be able to go to classes again till he was no longer in pain. In order to help reduce his pain, she gave him some pain relief medicine which tasted like ass. However, it did its work… albeit a little too well. He felt like he was high almost all the time, and he knew that Fleur needed to no longer be in pain. While the medicine didn’t do anything for either of them physically, it still helped numb the pain they felt. So many students filed past the hospital wing trying to catch a glimpse of Hermione that Madam Pomfrey took out her curtains again and placed them around Hermione’s bed, to spare her from the uncomfortable sensation of being watched.

Harry and Ron went to visit her every evening. When the new term started, they brought her each day’s homework. Piper and Anne did the same for John. Ritchie visited every now and then, but usually just to help John stay caught up. Other than that, Ritchie had other things to do. Gary had also made some visits, and that got him and John to become friends. Once Gary spazzed out due to the fact that he was still mentally suffering from no longer injecting himself with heroin. However, that earned him a nickname. John was so high when Gary spazzed he accidentally combined “Gary” and "spaz” into “Gaz.” However, the nickname suited Gary fine.

“If I was stuck in a hospital bed, I’d take a break from work,” said Ron, tipping a stack of books onto Hermione’s bedside table one evening.

“Don’t be silly, Ron, I’ve got to keep up,” said Hermione briskly. Her spirits were greatly improved by the fact that all the hair had gone from her face and her eyes were turning slowly back to brown.

“That’s right Wonnikins,” John said high as a kite, “Never tell a workaholic to become a fun-a-holic.”

“If he calls me that again…” Ron said with an eye twitching as John giggled for no reason, “i’m gonna feed him one of Hagrid’s rock cakes.”

“What happened to him anyway?” Harry asked glancing over at John who had tied a random ribbon around his nose making it look like a present.

“Honestly have no idea,” Hermione said with a frown of concern as she too glanced at John, “but I hope it passes. He is currently driving me insane with how he’s acting.”

She then quickly changed the subject as John stuck two cue tips into his nose.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any new leads?” she whispered, so that Madam Pomfrey couldn’t hear her.

“Nothing,” said Harry gloomily.

“I was so sure Malfoy was at least working with the slytherin heir,” said Ron, for about the hundredth time.

“What’s that?” asked Harry, pointing to something gold sticking out from under Hermione’s pillow.

“Just a get well card,” said Hermione hastily, trying to poke it out of sight, but Ron was too quick for her. He pulled it out, flicked it open, and read aloud:

_To Miss Granger,_

_Wishing you a speedy recovery, from your concerned teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of_ Witch Weekly’s _Most-Charming-Smile Award._

Ron looked up at Hermione, disgusted.

“You sleep with this under your pillow?” Ron said disgusted.

But Hermione was spared answering by Madam Pomfrey sweeping over with her evening dose of medicine.

“Is Lockhart the smarmiest bloke you’ve ever met, or what?” Ron said to Harry as they left the infirmary and started up the stairs toward Gryffindor Tower. Snape had given them so much homework, Harry thought he was likely to be in the sixth year before he finished it. Ron was just saying he wished he had asked Hermione how many rat tails you were supposed to add to a Hair-Raising Potion when an angry outburst from the floor above reached their ears.

“That’s Filch,” Harry muttered as they hurried up the stairs and paused, out of sight, listening hard.

“You don’t think someone else’s been attacked?” said Ron tensely.

They stood still, their heads inclined toward Filch’s voice, which sounded quite hysterical.

“-even more work for me!” Filch was ranting, “Mopping all night, like I haven’t got enough to do! No, this is the final straw, I’m going to Dumbledore-”

His footsteps receded along the out-of-sight corridor and they heard a distant door slam.

They poked their heads around the corner. Filch had clearly been manning his usual lookout post: They were once again on the spot where Mrs. Norris had been attacked. They saw at a glance what Filch had been shouting about. A great flood of water stretched over half the corridor, and it looked as though it was still seeping from under the door of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. Now that Filch had stopped shouting, they could hear Myrtle’s wails echoing off the bathroom walls.

“ _Now_ what’s up with her?” asked Ron not really caring.

“Let’s go and see,” said Harry, and holding their robes over their ankles they stepped through the great wash of water to the door bearing its out of order sign, ignored it as always, and entered.

Moaning Myrtle was crying, if possible, louder and harder than ever before. She seemed to be hiding down her usual toilet. It was dark in the bathroom because the candles had been extinguished in the great rush of water that had left both walls and floor soaking wet.

“What’s up, Myrtle?” asked Harry.

“Who’s that?” glugged Myrtle miserably. “Come to throw something else at me?”

Harry waded across to her stall and asked, “Why would I throw something at you?”

“Don’t ask me,” Myrtle shouted, emerging with a wave of yet more water, which splashed onto the already sopping floor, “Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it’s funny to throw a book at me…”

“But it can’t hurt you if someone throws something at you,” said Harry, reasonably, “I mean, it’d just go right through you, wouldn’t it?”

He had said the wrong thing. Myrtle puffed herself up and shrieked, “Let’s all throw books at Myrtle, because she can’t feel it! Ten points if you can get it through her stomach! Fifty points if it goes through her head! Well, ha, ha, ha! What a lovely game, I don’t think!”

“Who threw it at you, anyway?” asked Harry.

“ _I_ don’t know… I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head,” said Myrtle, glaring at them, “It’s over there, it got washed out…”

Harry and Ron looked under the sink where Myrtle was pointing. A small, thin book lay there. It had a shabby black cover and was as wet as everything else in the bathroom. Harry stepped forward to pick it up, but Ron suddenly flung out an arm to hold him back.

“What?” said Harry.

“Are you crazy?” said Ron, “It could be dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” said Harry, laughing. “Come off it, how could it be dangerous?”

“You’d be surprised,” said Ron, who was looking apprehensively at the book. “Some of the books the Ministry’s confiscated… Dad’s told me… there was one that burned your eyes out. And everyone who read _Sonnets of a Sorcerer_ spoke in limericks for the rest of their lives. And some old witch in Bath had a book that you could never stop reading! You just had to wander around with your nose in it, trying to do everything one-handed. And-”

“All right, I’ve got the point,” interrupted Harry.

The little book lay on the floor, nondescript and soggy.

“Well, we won’t find out unless we look at it,” he said, and he ducked around Ron and picked it up off the floor.

Harry saw at once that it was a diary, and the faded year on the cover told him it was fifty years old. He opened it eagerly. On the first page he could just make out the name “T. M. Riddle” in smudged ink.

“Hang on,” said Ron, who had approached cautiously and was looking over Harry’s shoulder, “I know that name… T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago.”

“How on earth d’you know that?” said Harry in amazement.

“John told me about it at one time,” Ron said before he face-palmed.

“What” Harry asked.

“John told me a story of when the Chamber of Secrets the first time,” Ron explained, “but that was a month before we rescued you from the Dursleys. I can’t believe I forgot all about it till now!”

Harry peeled the wet pages apart. They were completely blank. There wasn’t the faintest trace of writing on any of them, not even _Auntie Mabel’s birthday_ , or _dentist, half-past three_.

“He never wrote in it,” said Harry, disappointed.

“I wonder why someone wanted to flush it away?” said Ron curiously.

Harry turned to the back cover of the book and saw the printed name of a variety store on Vauxhall Road, London.

“He must’ve been Muggle-born,” said Harry thoughtfully, “To have bought a diary from Vauxhall Road…”

“Well, it’s not much use to you,” said Ron. He dropped his voice, “Fifty points if you can get it through Myrtle’s nose.”

Harry, however, pocketed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> French to English:  
> 1) Oui = yes  
> 2) Voir qui c'est = see who it is  
> Arabic to English:  
> 1)Arbit ruwhiun lak = I bind my soul to yours  
> 2) hayatuna tusbih wahida = our lives shall become one  
> 3) Yjb 'an tatashabak masayiruna 'iilaa al'abad = our   
> destinies shall be entwined forevermore  
> 4) ln taqae 'abadaan li'ahad siwaa bedna albaed = never shall we fall for anyone but each other  
> 5) Ana 'utalibuk, hubu hayatiun, 'ana 'aeish = I bid thee, the love of my life, to live


	11. Myths and Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is back at Hogwarts, spontaneously combusts again, is told a theory about why he can spontaneously combust without personal harm, and enters the diary.

Chapter 11: Myths and Memories

Hermione and John left the hospital wing at the beginning of February. On Hermione’s first evening back in Gryffindor Tower, Harry showed her T. M. Riddle’s diary and told her the story of how they had found it.

“Oooh, it might have hidden powers,” said Hermione enthusiastically, taking the diary and looking at it closely.

“If it has, it’s hiding them very well,” said Ron, “Maybe it’s shy. I don’t know why you don’t chuck it, Harry.”

“I wish I knew why someone did try to chuck it,” said Harry, “I wouldn’t mind knowing how Riddle got an award for special services to Hogwarts either.”

“If that book has hidden powers and was chucked,” said the familiar voice of Prue Halliwell as she walked up to them in casual clothes, “then there’s a high possibility that it’s cursed.”

“If it was cursed,” Ron said skeptically, “then Harry would’ve been affected immediately.”

“Ron’s right, Prue,” Hermione agreed, “Curses don’t bide their time.”

“Not all of them,” Prue admitted, “but some do. Especially, if the caster wanted the one that touched it to be affected slowly as a way to torture them.”

“Blimey,” Ron said paling a bit, “isn’t that a bit extreme?”

“Not to the caster,” Prue said.

“I say we show this to John tomorrow during break,” Hermione suggested, “He should be able to determine if it’s cursed or not.”

“Right,” Harry nodded in agreement.

“Oh, John’s out of the hospital wing?” Prue asked a little more eagerly than she intended to sound.

“Yeah,” Hermione asked holding in a smirk, “Why? You itching to see him?”

“No,” Prue said a bit too quickly, “I was just… curious, is all.”

“Anyway, the reason why Riddle got that award could’ve been anything,” said Ron, “Maybe he got thirty O.W.L.s or saved a teacher from the giant squid. Maybe he murdered Myrtle; that would’ve done everyone a favor…”

But Harry could tell from the arrested look on Hermione’s face that she was thinking what he was thinking.

“What?” said Ron, looking from one to the other.

“Well, the Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago, wasn’t it?” he said, “That’s what Malfoy said.”

“Yeah…” said Ron slowly.

“And _this diary_ is fifty years old,” said Hermione, tapping it excitedly.

“So?” Ron said still not getting it.

“Oh, Ron, wake up,” snapped Hermione, “We know the person who opened the Chamber last time was expelled fifty years ago. We know T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago. Well, what if Riddle got his special award for catching the Heir of Slytherin? His diary would probably tell us everything… where the Chamber is, and how to open it, and what sort of creature lives in it… the person who’s behind the attacks this time wouldn’t want that lying around, would they?”

“That’s a _brilliant_ theory, Hermione,” said Ron, “with just one tiny little flaw. _There’s nothing written in his diary_.”

But Hermione was pulling her wand out of her bag.

“It might be invisible ink!” she whispered.

She tapped the diary three times and said, “ _Aparecium_!”

Nothing happened. Undaunted, Hermione shoved her hand back into her bag and pulled out what appeared to be a bright red eraser.

“It’s a Revealer, I got it in Diagon Alley,” she said.

She rubbed hard on January first. Nothing happened.

“I’m telling you, there’s nothing to find in there,” said Ron, “Riddle just got a diary for Christmas and couldn’t be bothered filling it in.”

**In the Ravenclaw common room…**

Phoebe, Anne, and Ritchie were all working on schoolwork next to the fireplace helping each other when needed as they had nothing else to do. However, that all ended when they saw the Ravenclaw entrance/exit open up in the corner of their eyes. Curious, they looked up from their schoolwork and saw John walk in wearing his casual clothes. They didn’t move to greet him, because John had an expression that indicated he was in no mood for niceties. He proved that as he walked past them towards the boy’s dormitories where he sleeps.

“What happened while he was away?” Anne asked concerned for John as she looked in the direction he went.

“I don’t know,” Ritchie said closing his schoolbook with his schoolwork inside, “I’ll go ask.”

He then packed up everything and headed to the 2nd year portion of the boys dormitories where he found John drawing in his journal he had. However, unlike most people, John uses this journal for when he’s preparing spells for him to use in the future if needed. The mystical circle john was drawing was unlike any Ritchie had ever seen.

“Hey John,” Ritchie said as he walked in and placed his stuff on a nearby bed, “You alright.”

“I’m just dandy,” John grunted, “now piss off.”

“John-” Ritchie began slowly.

“Do you not have ears you git?!” John snapped as he whirled to glare at Ritchie, “I told you to piss off! Now, unless you’d like to be hexed leave me the fuck alone!”

“You have to talk to someone,” Ritchie said as he picked up his stuff, “whatever you’re feeling… you can’t keep it to yourself otherwise it’ll eat you up.”

At that, Ritchie turned around and headed towards the 4th year portion of the boys dormitories. With quiet finally restored, John returned to his journal but he had completely forgotten what spell he was preparing. In irritation he shut his journal and just laid down in his bed and closed his eyes. A little while later he began dreaming, and just like last time… it was more a vision than anything else.

**In the vision…**

Godric Gryffindor was now on a cliffside staring over an ocean and Rowena Ravenclaw was standing right next to him. She now wore a newer blue-ish dress that also had armor on it and a sword strapped to her left hip. Slung on her back was a quiver full of arrows and a recurve bow and in her hand was a walking stick that was more staff than anything. Godric is still wearing the same attire though, but that’s because he’s trying to stay under the radar of some people. Rowena is as well, but of the variety that hates magic and kills those that wield it. That is why she has light armor, a sword, a bow, and a quiver full of arrows. Otherwise, she’d just be wearing the blue dress.

“This place…” Godric said slowly as he surveyed the area, “looks like it could be a good place to hide our kind.”

“How?” Rowena asked, “there isn’t a building of any sort in sight, and neither is there land to build one. Even with magic, we can’t create a building out of thin air.”

“So, we form the building out of the Earth,” Godric suggested.

“Even that could take years,” Rowena said still skeptical.

“Then we best get started,” Godric said.

**The next day…**

Harry was determined to find out more about Riddle, so he headed for the trophy room to examine Riddle’s special award, accompanied by an interested Hermione and a thoroughly unconvinced Ron, who told them that it would just be a trophy. That there’d be nothing it could tell them. However, Harry was adamant on going down there so Ron reluctantly agreed to tag along.

“Aren’t we supposed to show John that diary?” Ron asked trying to delay the trip to the trophy room.

“Oh, that’s right!” Hermione said turning to Harry, “We should do that first. It shouldn’t take too much time.”

After a minute of thinking, Harry nodded in agreement. With that decision made, they headed off to where they knew John would be. The dining hall. The reason for John being in the dining hall is it was the only place he wouldn’t have to come across Gilderoy Lockhart. They found him at the Ravenclaw table doing schoolwork alongside Anne Marie and Gary Lester. Anne didn’t look thrilled to be near the former drug addict, but she decided to just have John be between her and Gary.

“Heya John,” Hermione said as she, Harry, and Ron walked up.

John didn’t even raise his head, but he grunted an acknowledgement of her presence.

“I know you’re a little busy,” Hermione said, “but would you be willing to check out something.”

When John ignored them, Anne stepped on his foot under the table which prompted him to look at them.

“Check on what?” John asked with a tone that indicated he didn’t care.

“This,” Harry said producing Riddle’s diary.

“A book,” John said not very thrilled.

“We’re thinking it might be cursed,” Hermione said.

John immediately swiped the book from Harry and muttered something under his breath before opening it to see the blank pages. He frowned as nothing happened… not even a flare of light.

“Might hand it back to you tomorrow if I figure it safe,” John decided after a moment’s thought as he definitely did feel some sort of aura coming from the book, “but if it is dangerous or anything of the like… I’ll hand it to Dumbledore.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Hermione said nodding in agreement, “Well, Harry. Off to the Trophy room.”

“See ya,” Anne said to Harry, Ron, and Hermione as they left. She then turned to John who was folding it in a cloth napkin before placing it into his cloak.

“Just a precaution,” John said when he noticed her looking at him, “might be a delayed curse.”

At that, they continued their schoolwork.

**Meanwhile, with Harry…**

Harry, Hermione, and Ron were now in the Trophy room looking at T. M. Riddle’s trophy and Ron wasn’t very impressed. He was annoyed more than not if he was being honest.

Riddle’s burnished gold shield was tucked away in a corner cabinet. It didn’t carry details of why it had been given to him. However, they did find Riddle’s name on an old Medal for Magical Merit, and on a list of old Head Boys.

“He sounds like Percy,” said Ron, wrinkling his nose in disgust, “Prefect, Head Boy… probably top of every class-”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” interrupted Hermione in a slightly hurt voice.

**Later…**

The sun had now begun to shine weakly on Hogwarts again. Inside the castle, the mood had grown more hopeful. There had been no more attacks since those on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, and Madam Pomfrey was pleased to report that the Mandrakes were becoming moody and secretive, meaning that they were fast leaving childhood. John was currently walking towards the girls’ bathroom where Harry found the diary.

“The moment their acne clears up, they’ll be ready for repotting again,” John heard her telling Filch kindly as he passed them at a certain point while on the way, “And after that, it won’t be long until we’re cutting them up and stewing them. You’ll have Mrs. Norris back in no time.”

 _Perhaps the Heir of Slytherin had lost his or her nerve_ , thought John even though he doubted it. It must be getting riskier and riskier to open the Chamber of Secrets, with the school so alert and suspicious. Perhaps the monster, whatever it was, was even now settling itself down to hibernate for another fifty years…

Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff didn’t take this cheerful view. He was still convinced that Harry was the guilty one, that he had “given himself away” at the Dueling Club. Peeves wasn’t helping matters; he kept popping up in the crowded corridors singing “Oh, Potter, you rotter…” now with a dance routine to match. Of course, John wasn’t there for the dueling club. However, he did hear about it. Specifically, that Harry spoke in parseltongue. John narrowed his eyes at that, but he didn’t believe Harry was the heir to Slytherin.

Eventually, he reached the girls’ bathroom and entered it immediately. He looked around and saw that it was no longer flooded. However, it was still in need of repairs. He then began looking around.

“Now then,” John muttered to himself, “Why would anyone try to drown a book?”

He then pulled out his wand and was about to perform a spell before someone was suddenly in his face.

“Why you here John?” Moaning Myrtle asked.

“I’m investigating the diary,” John said a little irritated, “now will you please get out of my way?”

Moaning Myrtle hung her head low as she floated away moaning as she did so.

“Revelio,” John said. However, nothing happened. With a frown, he tucked his wand back into his robes and crossed his arms as he thought.

**With Harry…**

Gilderoy Lockhart seemed to think he himself had made the attacks stop. Harry overheard him telling Professor McGonagall so while the Gryffindors were lining up for Transfiguration.

“I don’t think there’ll be any more trouble, Minerva,” he said, tapping his nose knowingly and winking, “I think the Chamber has been locked for good this time. The culprit must have known it was only a matter of time before I caught him. Rather sensible to stop now, before I came down hard on him.”

“You know, what the school needs now is a morale-booster,” Gilderoy continued much to Minerva’s chagrin, “Wash away the memories of last term! I won’t say any more just now, but I think I know just the thing…”

He tapped his nose again and strode off.

Lockhart’s idea of a morale-booster became clear at breakfast time on February fourteenth. Harry hadn’t had much sleep because of a late-running Quidditch practice the night before, and he hurried down to the Great Hall, slightly late. He met John there who was staring into the Great Hall with an eye twitching. Harry could see why when he walked through the doors.

The walls were all covered with large, lurid pink flowers. Worse still, heart-shaped confetti was falling from the pale blue ceiling. As John headed to the Ravenclaw table Harry went over to the Gryffindor table, where Ron was sitting looking sickened, and Hermione seemed to have been overcome with giggles.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked them, sitting down and wiping confetti off his bacon.

Ron pointed to the teachers’ table, apparently too disgusted to speak. Lockhart, wearing lurid pink robes to match the decorations, was waving for silence. The teachers on either side of him were looking stony-faced. From where he sat, Harry could see a muscle going in Professor McGonagall’s cheek. Snape looked as though someone had just fed him a large beaker of Skele-Gro.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Lockhart shouted, “And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all… and it doesn’t end here!”

Lockhart clapped his hands and through the doors to the entrance hall marched a dozen surly-looking dwarfs. Not just any dwarfs, however. Lockhart had them all wearing golden wings and carrying harps.

“My friendly, card-carrying cupids!” beamed Lockhart, “They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn’t stop here! I’m sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you’re at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I’ve ever met, the sly old dog!”

John and Harry both slammed their heads onto their tables unknowingly in unison because they just knew that Gilderoy was going to do something to make them the star of this Valentine’s Day torture. On the other hand. Professor Flitwick had buried his face in his hands. Snape was looking as though the first person to ask him for a Love Potion would be force-fed poison.

“Please, Hermione, tell me you weren’t one of the forty-six,” said Ron as he, Harry, Hermione, and John left the Great Hall for their first lesson. Hermione suddenly became very interested in searching her bag for her schedule and didn’t answer.

All day long, the dwarfs kept barging into their classes to deliver valentines, to the annoyance of the teachers, and late that afternoon as the Ravenclaws were walking upstairs for Charms, one of the dwarfs caught up with John.

“Oy, you! ’John Constantine!” shouted a particularly grim-looking dwarf, elbowing people out of the way to get to John.

Not interested to get this embarrassing treatment in front of people, John tried to escape. However, the dwarf cut his way through the crowd by kicking people’s shins, and reached him before he’d gone two paces.

“I’ve got a musical message to deliver to John Constantine in person,” he said, twanging his harp in a threatening sort of way.

“Then shove it where the sun don’t shine,” John said, trying to escape.

“Stay _still_!” grunted the dwarf, grabbing hold of John’s robe and pulling him back.

“Let me go!” John snarled, tugging.

With a loud ripping noise, a part of his robe tore off and he was sent tumbling down the stairs like a wheel. Fortunately, the students were kind enough to stop him from going too far even though they feared him right now. Guess they thought the burning man would spare them from his fiery retribution when it comes.

John stood up with a furious expression as he stared at the dwarf. He whipped out his wand to attack him, but when he did he saw that it had snapped. He forgot all about his rage at that point as he stared at the wand which was his mother’s. He just stood there not even listening to anything. Suddenly, he was snapped back to reality when the dwarf started singing, causing something of a holdup in the corridor.

“What’s going on here?” came the cold, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy. John quickly stuffed his broken wand into his robes, desperate to get away before Malfoy could hear his musical valentine.

“What’s all this commotion?” said another familiar voice as Percy Weasley arrived.

Losing his head, John tried to make a run for it, but the dwarf seized him around the knees and brought him crashing to the floor.

“Right,” he said, sitting on John’s ankles. “Here is your singing valentine:

 _His eyes are as blue as a clear sky,_  
 _His hair is as sandy as sugar candy ._  
 _I wish he was mine, he’s really divine,_ _  
The exorcist who conquered the demons of Hell._ ”

John would have given all the gold in Gringotts to evaporate on the spot. With an irritated expression, he got up, his feet numb from the weight of the dwarf, as Percy Weasley did his best to disperse the crowd, some of whom were crying with mirth.

“Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to class, now,” he said, shooing some of the younger students away, “And you, Malfoy…”

John, glancing over, saw Malfoy stoop and snatch up something. Leering, he showed it to Crabbe and Goyle, and John realized that his snapped wand had fallen out of his robes when the dwarf tripped him. Now Malfoy had it.

“Give that back,” snarled John angrily.

“Why?” Malfoy sneered, “It’s nothing but firewood now.”

“What do you think I should do with it?” Malfoy asked as he looked at Crabbe and Goyle.

“Use it for shish kabobs,” they said in unison.

“Is all you think about food?” Malfoy asked unimpressed and a little annoyed before turning back to John.

“Hand it over, Malfoy,” said Percy sternly.

“No,” Malfoy said, “i think I’ll send it to my father, and with Constantine no longer having a wand… he’s bound to be sent to squib school. What do they teach in squib school? How to clean up people’s vomit?”

At that, John snapped. He went to tackle Malfoy, but Percy held him back.

“I’m going to rip your throat out, you snake!” John snarled.

“With what?” Malfoy sneered, “your bare hands?”

At that, John elbowed Percy and leapt on top of Malfoy again. Malfoy now had a look of utter fear as John once more caught fire and this time his skin started to look scaly.

“Stupify!” Percy yelled with his wand pointed at John. The red bolt of magic hit John in the back rendering him unconscious. As soon as John had fallen off of his cousin, Malfoy scrambled to his feet and bolted off. As he did so, he dropped John’s broken wand onto the stairs behind him.

**Later, in the infirmary…**

John woke up to find himself in the infirmary and he was strapped to the hospital bed. For whatever reason, they felt it necessary to restrain him.

“How are you feeling John?” asked the familiar voice of Dumbledore to his right. John looked to his right and saw the Headmaster sitting next to him.

“I’d feel better if I wasn’t tied down like some nutjob,” John said ruder than intended.

“That was for everyone’s safety as well as yours,” Dumbledore explained.

“Do you remember what happened?” Dumbledore asked.

“Do you mean the embarrassing valentine delivered by Gimli son of Gloin or Malfoy being a pratt?” John asked.

“I see,” Dumbledore said, “So you don’t remember that you leapt onto Malfoy and spontaneously combusted into flames.”

“I think that’s something I’d remember,” John said dryly.

Dumbledore stared at him for about a minute before he produced his wand and flicked it causing the restrains to release John.

“Walk with me John,” Dumbledore said as he stood up.

Quietly, John got off of the bed and followed Dumbledore. They were silent through a fair portion of the walk till they turned a corridor which John remembered lead to the headmaster’s office.

“There are a lot of things people don’t know about Godric Gryffindor,” Dumbledore said, “And I believe that one of them is that he had a secret genetic ability to transform into a humanoid dragon.”

“So,” John said, “What’s this have to do with my human torch moments?”

“Some historians theorize that the lion being Gryffindor’s symbol was just because he liked how it looked,” Dumbledore continued as he lead them to the gargoyle guarding he stairs.

“Sherbert lemon,” Dumbledore said prompting the gargoyle to jump aside and allow them through.

“I still don’t understand,” John said confused as they walked up the stairs as it grew out of the ground.

“It is my personal belief that Godric Gryffindor and the muggle world’s most popular myth are one and the same,” Dumbledore said as he walked towards his bookshelf and picked up a book.

“What myth?” John asked. In response, Dumbledore merely turned around and walked over to him. When he reached John, he handed the book to him.

The title read: _King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table._

“How could they be the same?” John asked skeptical, “King Arthur is a muggle without magic while Godric is a wizard.”

“Tell me something John,” Dumbledore asked as he walked towards the sword of Gryffindor with John right behind him, “Why would a wizard need to use a sword?”

“Swords are cool,” John said, “and they wouldn’t have time to use only spells once in a battle with sword users?”

“True,” Dumbledore conceded, “however they could just steal a sword from a fallen or disarmed enemy. They wouldn’t need to own one themselves.”

John had no counter for that, because it made sense.

“I promise you John,” Dumbledore said, “I’ll help you learn to control this power of yours, but I need you to give me time to research it. I also need you to trust me.”

“You still haven’t answered what all this had to do with me,” John said with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s simple,” Dumbledore said as he turned to look at him, “You are the last Heir of Gryffindor.”

John just blinked dumbly at that before he laughed at how ridiculous it was for him to be an Heir to Godric Gryffindor while being in Ravenclaw and related to the Malfoys who are die-hard Slytherins.

“Take some time to process this,” Dumbledore said as he knew how ridiculous it sounded, “and when you’re ready, come find me.”

John tried to return the book, but Dumbledore merely shook his head as he raised his hand. It was clear that Dumbledore wanted John to keep it… or to just borrow it to catch up on his Arthurian Lore.

**Later, that night…**

John went to bed before anyone else in his dormitory that night. This was partly because he didn’t feel like dealing with everyone’s fearful looks when they looked at him. Partly because he wanted to examine finally exam Riddle’s diary to see what danger it held, and knew that Anne thought he was wasting his time.

After putting on some elastic gloves and his casual clothes, John sat on his four-poster and flicked through the blank pages, not one of which had a trace of scarlet ink on it. Then he pulled a new bottle out of his bedside cabinet, dipped his quill into it, and dropped a blot onto the first page of the diary. He wasn’t certain, but he figured it might’ve also been enchanted to hide everything that was written except to the owner.

The ink shone brightly on the paper for a second and then, as though it was being sucked into the page, vanished. Intrigued, John loaded up his quill a second time and wrote, _“My name is John Constantine.”_

The words shone momentarily on the page and they, too, sank without trace. Then, at last, something happened. Oozing back out of the page, in his very own ink, came words John had never written.

_“Hello, John Constantine. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?”_

These words, too, faded away, but not before John had started to scribble back.

 _“Someone gave it to me,”_ John wrote.

He waited eagerly for Riddle’s reply. Normally, he wouldn’t be eager for a strange book to talk to him. However, he had never seen such a thing happen before.

 _“Who gave it to you?”_ Riddle asked.

 _“An associate of mine,”_ John said, _“He wanted to know if this book was cursed or not.”_

 _“Ah,”_ Riddle said in understanding, _“Where did he get it?”_

 _“Apparently someone tried to flush it down a toilet,”_ John said dryly.

 _“Lucky that I recorded my memories in some more lasting way than ink,”_ Riddle remarked, _“But I always knew that there would be those who would not want this diary read.”_

John wondered what Riddle meant, and had a feeling it was that really dark magic he read about last year. However, he decided to pretend to be ignorant.

 _“What do you mean?”_ John wrote.

 _“I mean that this diary holds memories of terrible things,”_ Riddle explained, _“Things that were covered up. Things that happened at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”_

 _The Chamber…_ thought John, _He must be talking about the Chamber._

 _“That’s where I am now,”_ John wrote quickly, _“I’m at Hogwarts, and horrible stuff’s been happening. Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?”_

His heart was hammering. Riddle’s reply came quickly, his writing becoming untidier, as though he was hurrying to tell all he knew.

_“Of course I know about the Chamber of Secrets. In my day, they told us it was a legend, that it did not exist. But this was a lie. In my fifth year, the Chamber was opened and the monster attacked several students, finally killing one. I caught the person who’d opened the Chamber and he was expelled. But the headmaster, Professor Dippet, ashamed that such a thing had happened at Hogwarts, forbade me to tell the truth. A story was given out that the girl had died in a freak accident. They gave me a nice, shiny, engraved trophy for my trouble and warned me to keep my mouth shut. But I knew it could happen again. The monster lived on, and the one who had the power to release it was not imprisoned.”_

John nearly upset his ink bottle in his hurry to write back.

_“It’s happening again now. There have been three attacks and no one seems to know who’s behind them. Who was it last time?”_

_“I can show you, if you like,”_ came Riddle’s reply, _“You don’t have to take my word for it. I can take you inside my memory of the night when I caught him.”_

John hesitated, his quill suspended over the diary. What did Riddle mean? How could he be taken inside somebody else’s memory? He glanced nervously at the door to the dormitory, which was growing dark. When he looked back at the diary, he saw fresh words forming.

_“Let me show you.”_

John paused for a fraction of a second and then wrote two letters, _“OK.”_

The pages of the diary began to blow as though caught in a high wind, stopping halfway through the month of June. Mouth hanging open, John saw that the little square for June thirteenth seemed to have turned into a minuscule television screen. His hands trembling slightly, he raised the book to press his eye against the little window, and before he knew what was happening, he was tilting forward; the window was widening, he felt his body leave his bed, and he was pitched headfirst through the opening in the page, into a whirl of color and shadow.

He felt his feet hit solid ground, and stood, shaking, as the blurred shapes around him came suddenly into focus.

He knew immediately where he was. This circular room with the sleeping portraits was Dumbledore’s office, but it wasn’t Dumbledore who was sitting behind the desk. A wizened, frail-looking wizard, bald except for a few wisps of white hair, was reading a letter by candlelight. John had never seen this man before.

“Bollocks,” John said, “Sorry about the sudden appearance, mate. That damned-”

But the wizard didn’t look up. He continued to read, frowning slightly. John began walking off and said, “I’m just gonna go for a stroll.”

Still the wizard ignored him. He didn’t seem even to have heard him. Thinking that the wizard might be deaf, John said something rather rude.

“Deaf git,” John said.

The wizard folded up the letter with a sigh, stood up, walked past John without glancing at him, and went to draw the curtains at his window.

The sky outside the window was ruby-red; it seemed to be sunset. The wizard went back to the desk, sat down, and twiddled his thumbs, watching the door.

John looked around the office. No Fawkes the phoenix… no whirring silver contraptions. This was Hogwarts as Riddle had known it, meaning that this unknown wizard was headmaster, not Dumbledore, and he, John, was little more than a phantom, completely invisible to the people of fifty years ago.

There was a knock on the office door.

“Enter,” said the old wizard in a feeble voice.

A boy of about sixteen entered, taking off his pointed hat. A silver prefect’s badge was glinting on his chest. He was much taller than John, and he had jet-black hair.

“Ah, Riddle,” said the headmaster.

“You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?” said Riddle. He looked nervous.

“Sit down,” said Dippet, “I’ve just been reading the letter you sent me.”

“Oh,” said Riddle. He sat down, gripping his hands together very tightly.

“My dear boy,” said Dippet kindly, “I cannot possibly let you stay at school over the summer. Surely you want to go home for the holidays?”

“No,” said Riddle at once, “I’d much rather stay at Hogwarts than go back to that… to that…”

 _Reminds me a little of Potter,_ John thought.

“You live in a Muggle orphanage during the holidays, I believe?” said Dippet curiously.

“Yes, sir,” said Riddle, reddening slightly.

“You are Muggle-born?”

“Half-blood, sir,” corrected Riddle, “Muggle father, witch mother.”

“And are both your parents…?”

“My mother died just after I was born, sir. They told me at the orphanage she lived just long enough to name me… Tom after my father, Marvolo after my grandfather.”

Dippet clucked his tongue sympathetically.

“The thing is, Tom,” he sighed, “special arrangements might have been made for you, but in the current circumstances…”

“You mean all these attacks, sir?” said Riddle, and John’s heart leapt, and he moved towards the desk, making sure he didn’t miss anything.

“Precisely,” said the headmaster, “My dear boy, you must see how foolish it would be of me to allow you to remain at the castle when term ends. Particularly in light of the recent tragedy… the death of that poor little girl… You will be safer by far at your orphanage. As a matter of fact, the Ministry of Magic is even now talking about closing the school. We are no nearer locating the… er… source of all this unpleasantness…”

Riddle’s eyes had widened.

“Sir… if the person was caught… if it all stopped…”

“What do you mean?” said Dippet with a squeak in his voice, sitting up in his chair, “Riddle, do you mean you know something about these attacks?”

“No, sir,” said Riddle quickly.

Dippet sank back, looking faintly disappointed.

“You may go, Tom…”

Riddle slid off his chair and slouched out of the room. John followed him.

Down the moving spiral staircase they went, emerging next to the gargoyle in the darkening corridor. Riddle stopped, and so did John, watching him. John could tell that Riddle was doing some serious thinking. He was biting his lip, his forehead furrowed.

Then, as though he had suddenly reached a decision, he hurried off, John gliding noiselessly behind him. They didn’t see another person until they reached the entrance hall, when a tall wizard wearing a suit and tie with auburn hair and a beard called to Riddle from the marble staircase. That man looked like Jude Law from Fantastic beasts 2.

“What are you doing, wandering around this late, Tom?”

John gaped at the wizard. He was none other than a fifty-year-younger Dumbledore.

“I had to see the headmaster, sir,” said Riddle.

“Well, hurry off to bed,” said Dumbledore, giving Riddle his penetrating stare John knew well, “Best not to roam the corridors these days. Not since…”

He sighed heavily, bade Riddle good night, and strode off. Riddle watched him walk out of sight and then, moving quickly, headed straight down the stone steps to the dungeons, with John in hot pursuit.

But to John’s disappointment, Riddle led him not into a hidden passageway or a secret tunnel but to the very dungeon in which John had Potions with Snape. The torches hadn’t been lit, and when Riddle pushed the door almost closed, John could only just see him, standing stock-still by the door, watching the passage outside.

It felt to John that they were there for at least an hour. All he could see was the figure of Riddle at the door, staring through the crack, waiting like a statue. And just when John had stopped feeling expectant and tense and started wishing he could return to the present, he heard something move beyond the door.

Someone was creeping along the passage. He heard whoever it was pass the dungeon where he and Riddle were hidden. Riddle, quiet as a shadow, edged through the door and followed, John tip-toeing behind him, forgetting that he couldn’t be heard.

For perhaps five minutes they followed the footsteps, until Riddle stopped suddenly, his head inclined in the direction of new noises. John heard a door creak open, and then someone speaking in a hoarse whisper.

“C’mon… gotta get yeh outta here… C’mon now… in the box…”

There was something familiar about that voice…

Riddle suddenly jumped around the corner. John stepped out behind him. He could see the dark outline of a huge boy who was crouching in front of an open door, a very large box next to it.

“ ’Evening, Rubeus,” said Riddle sharply.

The boy slammed the door shut and stood up.

“What yer doin’ down here, Tom?”

Riddle stepped closer.

“It’s all over,” he said. “I’m going to have to turn you in, Rubeus. They’re talking about closing Hogwarts if the attacks don’t stop.”

“What d’yeh…”

“I don’t think you meant to kill anyone. But monsters don’t make good pets. I suppose you just let it out for exercise and…”

“It never killed no one!” said the large boy, backing against the closed door. From behind him, Harry could hear a funny rustling and clicking.

“Come on, Rubeus,” said Riddle, moving yet closer, “The dead girl’s parents will be here tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do is make sure that the thing that killed their daughter is slaughtered…”

“It wasn’t him!” roared the boy, his voice echoing in the dark passage, “He wouldn’! He never!”

“Stand aside,” said Riddle, drawing out his wand.

His spell lit the corridor with a sudden flaming light. The door behind the large boy flew open with such force it knocked him into the wall opposite. And out of it came something that made John let out a long, piercing scream unheard by anyone…

A vast, low-slung, hairy body and a tangle of black legs; a gleam of many eyes and a pair of razor-sharp pincers… Riddle raised his wand again, but he was too late. The thing bowled him over as it scuttled away, tearing up the corridor and out of sight. Riddle scrambled to his feet, looking after it; he raised his wand, but the huge boy leapt on him, seized his wand, and threw him back down, yelling, “NOOOOOOO!”

The scene whirled, the darkness became complete; John felt himself falling and, with a crash, he landed spread-eagled on his four-poster in the Ravenclaw dormitory, Riddle’s diary lying open on his stomach.

Before he had had time to regain his breath, the dormitory door opened and Anne came in.

“There you are,” she said.

John sat up. He was sweating and shaking.

“What’s up?” asked Anne, looking at him with concern.

“It was Hagrid, Anne,” John replied with a tone indicating he didn’t believe it, “Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John, Harry, and Ron see Fudge for the first time ever. Ritchie has been attacked which infuriates John.

Chapter 12: Cornelius Fudge

John had always known that Hagrid had an unfortunate liking for large and monstrous creatures. During their first year at Hogwarts he had tried to raise a dragon in his little wooden house, and it would be a long time before they forgot the giant, three-headed dog he’d christened “Fluffy.” And if, as a boy, Hagrid had heard that a monster was hidden somewhere in the castle, John was sure he’d have gone to any lengths for a glimpse of it. He’d probably thought it was a shame that the monster had been cooped up so long, and thought it deserved the chance to stretch its many legs; John could just imagine the thirteen-year-old Hagrid trying to fit a leash and collar on it. But he was equally certain that Hagrid would never have meant to kill anybody.

John half wished he hadn’t found out how to work Riddle’s diary. Again and again Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Anne made him recount what he’d seen, until he was heartily sick of telling them and sick of the long, circular conversations that followed. Anne was currently elsewhere in Hogwarts.

“Riddle _might_ have got the wrong person,” said Hermione, “Maybe it was some other monster that was attacking people…”

“How many monsters d’you think this place can hold?” Ron asked dully.

“At the most?” John said with a shrug, “a hundred.”

“We always knew Hagrid had been expelled,” said Harry miserably, “And the attacks must’ve stopped after Hagrid was kicked out. Otherwise, Riddle wouldn’t have got his award.”

Ron tried a different tack.

“Riddle does sound like Percy,” Ron said, “who asked him to squeal on Hagrid, anyway?”

“But the monster had _killed_ someone, Ron,” said Hermione.

“And Riddle was going to go back to some Muggle orphanage if they closed Hogwarts,” said Harry, “I don’t blame him for wanting to stay here…”

“You met Hagrid down Knockturn Alley, didn’t you, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“He was buying a Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent,” said Harry quickly, “Also, John was there too and on purpose unlike me.”

“Don’t throw me under the bus,” John grunted.

“What exactly were you doing in Knockturn Alley anyway John?” Hermione asked as she turned to look at him.

“Exorcist business,” John lied bluntly, “a lot of the major exorcisms require stuff that ain’t exactly legal.”

The four of them fell silent. After a long pause, Hermione voiced the knottiest question of all in a hesitant voice.

“Do you think we should go and _ask_ Hagrid about it all?”

“That’d be a cheerful visit,” said Ron, “ ‘Hello, Hagrid. Tell us, have you been setting anything mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?’ ”

In the end, they decided that they would not say anything to Hagrid unless there was another attack, and as more and more days went by with no whisper from the disembodied voice, they became hopeful that they would never need to talk to him about why he had been expelled. It was now nearly four months since Justin and Nearly Headless Nick had been Petrified, and nearly everybody seemed to think that the attacker, whoever it was, had retired for good. Geeves had finally got bored of his “Oh, Potter, you rotter” song, Ernie Macmillan asked Harry quite politely to pass a bucket of leaping toadstools in Herbology one day, and in March several of the Mandrakes through a loud and raucous party in greenhouse three. This made Professor Sprout very happy.

“The moment they start trying to move into each other’s pots, we’ll know they’re fully mature,” she told Harry, “Then we’ll be able to revive those poor people in the hospital wing.”

The second years were given something new to think about during their Easter holidays. The time had come to choose their subjects for the third year, a matter that Hermione, at least, took very seriously. John took it fairly seriously as well, but not as much as Hermione.

“It could affect our whole future,” she told John, Harry, and Ron as they pored over lists of new subjects, marking them with checks.

“I just want to give up Potions,” said Harry.

“As much as I agree,” John said, “We can’t. Too damn essential for passing all of the years, and there are chances you’ll have to perform some potion-making out in the world.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed, “If we could ditch any of the permanent classes I’d ditch Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“But that’s very important!” said Hermione, shocked.

“Not the way Lockhart teaches it,” said Ron, “I haven’t learned anything from him except not to set pixies loose.”

Neville Longbottom had been sent letters from all the witches and wizards in his family, all giving him different advice on what to choose. Confused and worried, he sat reading the subject lists with his tongue poking out, asking people whether they thought Arithmancy sounded more difficult than the study of Ancient Runes. Dean Thomas, who, like Harry, had grown up with Muggles, ended up closing his eyes and jabbing his wand at the list, then picking the subjects it landed on. Hermione took nobody’s advice but signed up for everything. John signed up for Care for Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes, and Divination because he’s lately been believing that Phoebe was right about him having premonitions.

Harry smiled grimly to himself at the thought of what Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would say if he tried to discuss his career in wizardry with them. Not that he didn’t get any guidance: Percy Weasley was eager to share his experience.

“Depends where you want to go, Harry,” he said, “It’s never too early to think about the future, so I’d recommend Divination. People say Muggle Studies is a soft option, but I personally think wizards should have a thorough understanding of the non-magical community, particularly if they’re thinking of working in close contact with them… look at my father, he has to deal with Muggle business all the time. My brother Charlie was always more of an outdoor type, so he went for Care of Magical Creatures. Play to your strengths, Harry.”

But the only thing Harry felt he was really good at was Quidditch. In the end, he chose the same new subjects as Ron, feeling that if he was lousy at them, at least he’d have someone friendly to help him.

Gryffindor’s next Quidditch match would be against Hufflepuff. Wood was insisting on team practices every night after dinner, so that Harry barely had time for anything but Quidditch and homework. However, the training sessions were getting better, or at least drier, and the evening before Saturday’s match he went up to his dormitory to drop off his broomstick feeling Gryffindor’s chances for the Quidditch Cup had never been better.

But his cheerful mood didn’t last long. At the top of the stairs to the dormitory, he met Neville Longbottom, who was looking frantic.

“Harry… I don’t know who did it… I just found…”

Watching Harry fearfully, Neville pushed open the door. The contents of Harry’s trunk had been thrown everywhere. His cloak lay ripped on the floor. The bedclothes had been pulled off his four-poster and the drawer had been pulled out of his bedside cabinet, the contents strewn over the mattress.

Harry walked over to the bed, openmouthed, treading on a few loose pages of _Travels with Trolls_. As he and Neville pulled the blankets back onto his bed, Ron, Dean, and Seamus came in. Dean swore loudly.

“What happened, Harry?”

“No idea,” said Harry. But Ron was examining Harry’s robes. All the pockets were hanging out.

“Someone’s been looking for something,” said Ron, “Is there anything missing?”

Harry started to pick up all his things and throw them into his trunk. It was only as he threw the last of the Lockhart books back into it that he realized what wasn’t there. John had returned the diary to Harry a while ago, because he had determined that there was nothing cursed about the diary. However, John did caution Harry not to use it no matter how tempted Harry might become.

“Riddle’s diary’s gone,” he said in an undertone to Ron.

“What?”

Harry jerked his head toward the dormitory door and Ron followed him out. They hurried down to the Gryffindor common room, which was half-empty, and joined Hermione, who was sitting alone, reading a book called _Ancient Runes Made Easy_.

Hermione looked aghast at the news.

“But… only a Gryffindor could have stolen… nobody else knows our password…”

“Exactly,” said Harry.

“We have to inform John,” Hermione said thoughtfully, “After all, knowing him he’d probably have a way of finding out who stole it.”

They woke the next day to brilliant sunshine and a light, refreshing breeze.

“Perfect Quidditch conditions!” said Wood enthusiastically at the Gryffindor table, loading the team’s plates with scrambled eggs.

“Harry, buck up there, you need a decent breakfast.”

Harry had been staring down the packed Gryffindor table, wondering if the new owner of Riddle’s diary was right in front of his eyes. Hermione had been urging him to report the robbery, but Harry didn’t like the idea. He’d have to tell a teacher all about the diary, and how many people knew why Hagrid had been expelled fifty years ago? He didn’t want to be the one who brought it all up again.

As he left the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione to go and collect his Quidditch things, another very serious worry was added to Harry’s growing list. He had just set foot on the marble staircase when he heard it yet again…

_“Kill this time… let me rip… tear…”_

He shouted aloud and Ron and Hermione both jumped away from him in alarm.

“The voice!” said Harry, looking over his shoulder, “I just heard it again… didn’t you?”

Ron shook his head, wide-eyed. Hermione, however, clapped a hand to her forehead.

“Harry… I think I’ve just understood something! I’ve got to go to the library!”

And she sprinted away, up the stairs.

“What does she understand?” said Harry distractedly, still looking around, trying to tell where the voice had come from.

“Loads more than I do,” said Ron, shaking his head.

“But why’s she got to go to the library?”

“Because that’s what Hermione does,” said Ron, shrugging, “When in doubt, go to the library.”

Harry stood, irresolute, trying to catch the voice again, but people were now emerging from the Great Hall behind him, talking loudly, exiting through the front doors on their way to the Quidditch pitch.

“You’d better get moving,” said Ron, “It’s nearly eleven… the match…”

Harry raced up to Gryffindor Tower, collected his Nimbus Two Thousand, and joined the large crowd swarming across the grounds, but his mind was still in the castle along with the bodiless voice, and as he pulled on his scarlet robes in the locker room, his only comfort was that everyone was now outside to watch the game.

The teams walked onto the field to tumultuous applause. Oliver Wood took off for a warm-up flight around the goal posts; Madam Hooch released the balls. The Hufflepuffs, who played in canary yellow, were standing in a huddle, having a last-minute discussion of tactics.

Harry was just mounting his broom when Professor McGonagall came half marching, half running across the pitch, carrying an enormous purple megaphone.

Harry’s heart dropped like a stone.

 _“This match has been canceled,”_ Professor McGonagall called through the megaphone, addressing the packed stadium. There were boos and shouts. Oliver Wood, looking devastated, landed and ran toward Professor McGonagall without getting off his broomstick.

“But, Professor!” he shouted, “We’ve got to play… the Cup… Gryffindor…”

Professor McGonagall ignored him and continued to shout through her megaphone:

_“All students are to make their way back to the House common rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further information. As quickly as you can, please!”_

Then she lowered the megaphone and beckoned Harry over to her.

“Potter, I think you’d better come with me…”

Wondering how she could possibly suspect him this time, Harry saw Ron detach himself from the complaining crowd; he came running up to them as they set off toward the castle. To Harry’s surprise, Professor McGonagall didn’t object.

“Yes, perhaps you’d better come, too, Weasley…”

Some of the students swarming around them were grumbling about the match being canceled; others looked worried. Harry and Ron followed Professor McGonagall back into the school and up the marble staircase. But they weren’t taken to anybody’s office this time.

“This will be a bit of a shock,” said Professor McGonagall in a surprisingly gentle voice as they approached the infirmary, “There has been another attack… another _double_ attack.”

Harry’s insides did a horrible somersault. Professor McGonagall pushed the door open and he and Ron entered.

Madam Pomfrey was bending over a fourth-year boy with short brown hair. Harry recognized him immediately, and knew his name was Ritchie Simpson. And on the bed next to him was…

 _“Hermione!”_ Ron groaned.

Hermione lay utterly still, her eyes open and glassy.

“They were found near the library,” said Professor McGonagall, “I don’t suppose either of you can explain this? It was on the floor next to them…”

She was holding up a small, circular mirror.

Harry and Ron shook their heads, both staring at Hermione.

“I will escort you back to Gryffindor Tower,” said Professor McGonagall heavily, “I need to address the students in any case.”

“Ritchie!” exclaimed a voice attracting their attention. Harry, Ron, and McGonagall looked to see John in the doorway of the medical wing. They watched as John hurried to Anne in order to confirm that she was indeed petrified.

“What the bloody hell happened?!” John said with anger in his voice, “And don’t tell me they were attacked, because that’s really fucking obvious!”

“Watch your tongue,” McGonagall warned with a stern but kind tone, “and we have yet to determine what is causing the petrification.”

McGonagall then suggested that John stick with the Gryffindors for the time being, because it was too risky to go wandering around on one’s own currently.

**Later, in the Gryffindor common room…**

“All students will return to their House common rooms by six o’clock in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities.”

The Gryffindors packed inside the common room listened to Professor McGonagall in silence. She rolled up the parchment from which she had been reading and said in a somewhat choked voice, “I need hardly add that I have rarely been so distressed. It is likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught. I would urge anyone who thinks they might know anything about them to come forward.”

She climbed somewhat awkwardly out of the portrait hole, and the Gryffindors began talking immediately.

“That’s two Gryffindors down, not counting a Gryffindor ghost, one Ravenclaw, and one Hufflepuff,” said the Weasley twins’ friend Lee Jordan, counting on his fingers. “Haven’t any of the teachers noticed that the Slytherins are all safe? Isn’t it obvious all this stuff’s coming from Slytherin? The Heir of Slytherin, the monster of Slytherin… why don’t they just chuck all the Slytherins out?” he roared, to nods and scattered applause.

Percy Weasley was sitting in a chair behind Lee, but for once he didn’t seem keen to make his views heard. He was looking pale and stunned.

“Percy’s in shock,” George told Harry quietly, “That Ravenclaw boy… Ritchie Simpson… he’s a prefect. I don’t think he thought the monster would dare attack a _prefect_.”

“The bastard responsible for sending that creature…” John growled angrily from next to them, “will not receive any mercy from me.”

“Dark much?” Fred asked a little unnerved at John’s mood.

“Piss off,” John grunted.

Harry was only half-listening to the conversation. He didn’t seem to be able to get rid of the picture of Hermione, lying on the hospital bed as though carved out of stone. And if the culprit wasn’t caught soon, he was looking at a lifetime back with the Dursleys. From what John had informed him, Tom Riddle had turned Hagrid in because he was faced with the prospect of a Muggle orphanage if the school closed. Harry now knew exactly how he had felt.

“What’re we going to do?” said Ron quietly in Harry’s ear, “D’you think they suspect Hagrid?”

“We’ve got to go and talk to him,” said Harry, making up his mind, “I can’t believe it’s him this time, but if he set the monster loose last time he’ll know how to get inside the Chamber of Secrets, and that’s a start.”

“But McGonagall said we’ve got to stay in our tower unless we’re in class…”

“I think,” said Harry, more quietly still, “it’s time to get my dad’s old cloak out again.”

“I’m tagging along,” john whispered to them, “and you don’t need to worry about your cloak. I think it’s time I teach you how to astral project yourselves.”

“What if someone comes by Hagrid’s hut while we’re there?” Harry countered.

“Just phase into the walls, ground, or ceiling,” John explained, “The astral projection is basically your soul leaving your body, and so you’re a ghost while in your astral form.”

“What about me?” Ron asked irritated, “I’m a slow learner, and this is far more advanced than anything I’ve even managed to accomplish. Also, we saw you at the Dursley’s. You were in your astral form and yet you were tangible.”

“Didn’t say I’d teach you, now did I?” John asked with a raised eyebrow, “As for my astral form’s tangibility… beginners are ghostly while experts are not.” At that Ron just looked away with a grunt.

Harry had inherited just one thing from his father: a long and silvery Invisibility Cloak. It was their only chance of sneaking out of the school to visit Hagrid without anyone knowing about it, because even Harry was having a hard time learning astral projection. They went to bed at the usual time, waited until Neville, Dean, and Seamus had stopped discussing the Chamber of Secrets and finally fallen asleep, then got up, dressed again, and threw the cloak over themselves.

The journey through the dark and deserted castle corridors wasn’t enjoyable. Harry, who had wandered the castle at night several times before, had never seen it so crowded after sunset. Teachers, prefects, and ghosts were marching the corridors in pairs, staring around for any unusual activity. Their Invisibility Cloak didn’t stop them making any noise, and there was a particularly tense moment when Ron stubbed his toe only yards from the spot where Snape stood standing guard. Thankfully, Snape sneezed at almost exactly the moment Ron swore. It was with relief that they reached the oak front doors and eased them open.

It was a clear, starry night. They hurried toward the lit windows of Hagrid’s house and pulled off the cloak only when they were right outside his front door.

Seconds after they had knocked, Hagrid flung it open. They found themselves face-to-face with him aiming a crossbow at them. Fang the boarhound barked loudly behind him.

“Oh,” he said, lowering the weapon and staring at them, “What’re you two doin’ here?

“What’s that for?” asked Harry, pointing at the crossbow as they stepped inside

“He was expecting something or someone else,” said a Liverpudlian voice from the dining table. Hagrid whirled around and saw John sitting there with an angry expression on his face.

“How’d yeh get there?!” Hagrid exclaimed in surprise as he looked out the front door and to the table three times.

“That’s not important,” John said dismissively, “what the three of us are here to ask… is.”

“Is tha’ righ’?” Hagrid asked looking at Harry. Harry nodded his agreement with John.

“Sit down then,” Hagrid said gesturing towards the table, “I’ll make some tea.”

He hardly seemed to know what he was doing. He nearly extinguished the fire, spilling water from the kettle on it, and then smashed the teapot with a nervous jerk of his massive hand.

“Are you okay, Hagrid?” asked Harry. “Did you hear about Hermione?”

“Oh, I heard, all righ’,” said Hagrid, a slight break in his voice.

He kept glancing nervously at the windows. He poured them both large mugs of boiling water (he had forgotten to add tea bags) and was just putting a slab of fruitcake on a plate when there was a loud knock on the door.

Hagrid dropped the fruitcake. Harry and Ron exchanged panicstricken looks, then threw the Invisibility Cloak back over themselves and retreated into a corner. John merely pulled out an amulet of sorts. Whenever Harry and Ron tried to look at him, they looked past him as if they didn’t want to see him at all. Hagrid checked that they were hidden, seized his crossbow, and flung open his door once more.

“Good evening, Hagrid.”

It was Dumbledore. He entered, looking deadly serious, and was followed by a second, very odd-looking man.

The stranger had rumpled gray hair and an anxious expression, and was wearing a strange mixture of clothes: a pinstriped suit, a scarlet tie, a long black cloak, and pointed purple boots. Under his arm he carried a lime-green bowler.

“That’s Dad’s boss!” Ron breathed, “Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic!”

Harry elbowed Ron hard to make him shut up.

Hagrid had gone pale and sweaty. He dropped into one of his chairs and looked from Dumbledore to Cornelius Fudge.

“Bad business, Hagrid,” said Fudge in rather clipped tones, “Very bad business. Had to come. Four attacks on Muggle-borns. Things’ve gone far enough. Ministry’s got to act.”

“I never,” said Hagrid, looking imploringly at Dumbledore, “You know I never, Professor Dumbledore, sir-”

“I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence,” said Dumbledore, frowning at Fudge.

“Look, Albus,” said Fudge, uncomfortably, “Hagrid’s record’s against him. Ministry’s got to do something - the school governors have been in touch-”

“Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that taking Hagrid away will not help in the slightest,” said Dumbledore. His blue eyes were full of a fire Harry had never seen before.

“Look at it from my point of view,” said Fudge, fidgeting with his bowler, “I’m under a lot of pressure. Got to be seen to be doing something. If it turns out it wasn’t Hagrid, he’ll be back and no more said. But I’ve got to take him. Got to. Wouldn’t be doing my duty-”

“Take me?” said Hagrid, who was trembling, “Take me where?”

“For a short stretch only,” said Fudge, not meeting Hagrid’s eyes, “Not a punishment, Hagrid, more a precaution. If someone else is caught, you’ll be let out with a full apology-”

“Not Azkaban?” croaked Hagrid.

Before Fudge could answer, there was another loud rap on the door.

Dumbledore answered it. It was Harry’s turn for an elbow in the ribs; he’d let out an audible gasp. Across from them, John clenched his fists very hard and for a split second his skin sparked with flames.

Mr. Lucius Malfoy strode into Hagrid’s hut, swathed in a long black traveling cloak, smiling a cold and satisfied smile. Fang started to growl.

“Already here, Fudge,” he said approvingly, “Good, good…”

“What’re you doin’ here?” said Hagrid furiously, “Get outta my house!”

“My dear man, please believe me, I have no pleasure at all in being inside your - er - d’you call this a house?” said Lucius Malfoy, sneering as he looked around the small cabin, “I simply called at the school and was told that the headmaster was here.”

“And what exactly did you want with me, Lucius?” said Dumbledore. He spoke politely, but the fire was still blazing in his blue eyes.

“Dreadful thing, Dumbledore,” said Malfoy lazily, taking out a long roll of parchment, “but the governors feel it’s time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension - you’ll find all twelve signatures on it. I’m afraid we feel you’re losing your touch. How many attacks have there been now? Two more this afternoon, wasn’t it? At this rate, there’ll be no Muggle-borns left at Hogwarts, and we all know what an awful loss that would be to the school.”

“Oh, now, see here, Lucius,” said Fudge, looking alarmed, “Dumbledore suspended - no, no - last thing we want just now-”

“The appointment - or suspension - of the headmaster is a matter for the governors, Fudge,” said Mr. Malfoy smoothly, “And as Dumbledore has failed to stop these attacks-”

“See here, Malfoy, if Dumbledore can’t stop them,” said Fudge, whose upper lip was sweating now, “I mean to say, who can?”

“That remains to be seen,” said Mr. Malfoy with a nasty smile, “But as all twelve of us have voted-”

Hagrid leapt to his feet, his shaggy black head grazing the ceiling.

“An’ how many did yeh have ter threaten an’ blackmail before they agreed, Malfoy, eh?” he roared.

“Dear, dear, you know, that temper of yours will lead you into trouble one of these days, Hagrid,” said Mr. Malfoy, “I would advise you not to shout at the Azkaban guards like that. They won’t like it at all.”

“Yeh can’ take Dumbledore!” yelled Hagrid, making Fang the boarhound cower and whimper in his basket, “Take him away, an’ the Muggle-borns won’ stand a chance! There’ll be killin’ next!”

“Calm yourself, Hagrid,” said Dumbledore sharply. He looked at Lucius Malfoy.

“If the governors want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside-”

“But-” stuttered Fudge.

 _“No!”_ growled Hagrid.

Dumbledore had not taken his bright blue eyes off Lucius Malfoy’s cold gray ones.

“However,” said Dumbledore, speaking very slowly and clearly so that none of them could miss a word, “you will find that I will only _truly_ have left this school when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.”

For a second, Harry was almost sure Dumbledore’s eyes flickered toward the corner where he and Ron stood hidden, and to the chair John sat as if he could actually see him through the amulet’s ability to make him unnoticeable.

“Admirable sentiments,” said Malfoy, bowing, “We shall all miss your - er - highly individual way of running things, Albus, and only hope that your successor will manage to prevent any - ah - killins.”

He strode to the cabin door, opened it, and bowed Dumbledore out. Fudge, fiddling with his bowler, waited for Hagrid to go ahead of him, but Hagrid stood his ground, took a deep breath, and said carefully, “If anyone wanted ter find out some stuff, all they’d have ter do would be ter follow the spiders. That’d lead ’em right! That’s all I’m sayin’.”

Fudge stared at him in amazement.

“All right, I’m comin’,” said Hagrid, pulling on his moleskin overcoat. But as he was about to follow Fudge through the door, he stopped again and said loudly, “An’ someone’ll need ter feed Fang while I’m away.”

“We’re in trouble now,” he said hoarsely, “No Dumbledore. They might as well close the school tonight. There’ll be an attack a day with him gone.”

The door banged shut and Ron pulled off the Invisibility Cloak as John removed the amulet from around his neck.

Fang started howling, scratching at the closed door.


	13. Aragog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets Aragog, and is told of Hagrid's innocnece. He also learns of a prophecy that nobody knows except the Acromantula.

Chapter 13: Aragog

Summer was creeping over the grounds around the castle; sky and lake alike turned periwinkle blue and flowers large as cabbages burst into bloom in the greenhouses. But with no Hagrid visible from the castle windows, striding the grounds with Fang at his heels, the scene didn’t look right to Harry; no better, in fact, than the inside of the castle, where things were so horribly wrong. John was doing his best to use his Malfoy connections to bring at least Dumbledore back, but to no avail.

Harry and Ron had tried to visit Hermione, but visitors were now barred from the hospital wing.

“We’re taking no more chances,” Madam Pomfrey told them severely through a crack in the infirmary door, “No, I’m sorry, there’s every chance the attacker might come back to finish these people off…”

With Dumbledore gone, fear had spread as never before, so that the sun warming the castle walls outside seemed to stop at the mullioned windows. There was barely a face to be seen in the school that didn’t look worried and tense, and any laughter that rang through the corridors sounded shrill and unnatural and was quickly stifled. Harry had just realized that Chaz hadn’t returned from his family gathering in America. According to Anne, chaz’s relative in London was refusing to send him back to Hogwarts this year after the news of the attacks had spread.

Harry constantly repeated Dumbledore’s final words to himself _“I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me... Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.”_ But what good were these words? Who exactly were they supposed to ask for help, when everyone was just as confused and scared as they were?

Hagrid’s hint about the spiders was far easier to understand. The trouble was, there didn’t seem to be a single spider left in the castle to follow. Harry looked everywhere he went, helped (rather reluctantly) by Ron. They were hampered, of course, by the fact that they weren’t allowed to wander off on their own but had to move around the castle in a pack with the other Gryffindors. Most of their fellow students seemed glad that they were being shepherded from class to class by teachers, but Harry found it very irksome.

One person, however, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the atmosphere of terror and suspicion. Draco Malfoy was strutting around the school as though he had just been appointed Head Boy. Harry didn’t realize what he was so pleased about until the Potions lesson about two weeks after Dumbledore and Hagrid had left, when, sitting right behind Malfoy, Harry overheard him gloating to Crabbe and Goyle.

“I always thought Father might be the one who got rid of Dumbledore,” he said, not troubling to keep his voice down, “I told you he thinks Dumbledore’s the worst headmaster the school’s ever had. Maybe we’ll get a decent headmaster now. Someone who won’t want the Chamber of Secrets closed. McGonagall won’t last long, she’s only filling in…”

“Shut your mouth Malfoy,” hissed John from his seat. Draco visibly flinched when he heard John speak. He was clearly still afraid of John, but that didn’t stop him from turning around to be rude to John.

Snape swept past Harry, making no comment about Hermione’s empty seat and cauldron. When Draco saw his favorite teacher, he smiled cruelly as he had found a way to be mean to both Harry and John at the same time.

“Sir,” said Malfoy loudly, “Sir, why don’t you apply for the headmaster’s job?”

“Now, now, Malfoy,” said Snape, though he couldn’t suppress a thin-lipped smile, “Professor Dumbledore has only been suspended by the governors. I daresay he’ll be back with us soon enough.”

“Yeah, right,” said Malfoy, smirking, “I expect you’d have Father’s vote, sir, if you wanted to apply for the job- I’ll tell Father you’re the best teacher here, sir-”

Snape smirked as he swept off around the dungeon, fortunately not spotting Seamus Finnigan, who was pretending to vomit into his cauldron.

“I’m quite surprised the Mudbloods haven’t all packed their bags by now,” Malfoy went on, “Bet you five Galleons the next one dies. Pity it wasn’t Granger-”

The bell rang at that moment, which was lucky; at Malfoy’s last words, Ron had leapt off his stool, and in the scramble to collect bags and books, his attempts to reach Malfoy went unnoticed.

“Let me at him,” Ron growled as Harry and Dean hung onto his arms, “I don’t care, I don’t need my wand, I’m going to kill him with my bare hands-”

“Leave him to me,” John said to Ron quietly, “You won’t be nearly as traumatizing as I will.”

“You’re not gonna…” Harry trailed off.

“Spontaneously combust?” John said, “No. That would draw too much attention. Not to mention the fact I can’t control when it happens. Besides, I have a better idea.”

“Hurry up, I’ve got to take you all to Herbology,” barked Snape over the class’s heads, and off they marched, with Harry, Ron, and Dean bringing up the rear, Ron still trying to get loose but calming down at least. It was only safe to let go of him when Snape had seen them out of the castle and they were making their way across the vegetable patch toward the greenhouses.

The Herbology class was very subdued; there were now two missing from their number, Justin and Hermione.

Professor Sprout set them all to work pruning the Abyssinian Shrivelfigs. Harry went to tip an armful of withered stalks onto the compost heap and found himself face-to-face with Ernie Macmillan. Ernie took a deep breath and said, very formally, “I just want to say, Harry, that I’m sorry I ever suspected you. I know you’d never attack Hermione Granger, and I apologize for all the stuff I said. We’re all in the same boat now, and, well-”

He held out a pudgy hand, and Harry shook it.

Ernie and his friend Hannah came to work at the same Shrivelfig as Harry and Ron.

“You still think John’s the culprit then?” Piper asked from her spot nearby.

“Of course,” Ernie said certain, “He combusts on fire, and he even started growing scales from what I’ve heard. If he can do that, then he most certainly is capable of doing all these horrible things.”

“Ernie,” Piper sighed, “you’re an idiot.”

“What?” Ernie asked clueless.

“Both times John spontaneously combusted…” Piper deadpanned, “it was when he was enraged and attempting to kill Draco. If anything he’s the reverse of what you’re blaming him for.”

“Oh,” Ernie said dejected.

“That Draco Malfoy character,” said Ernie suddenly after a minute, breaking off dead twigs, “he seems very pleased about all this, doesn’t he? D’you know, I think he might be Slytherin’s heir.”

“That’s clever of you,” said Ron, who didn’t seem to have forgiven Ernie as readily as Harry.

“Do you think it’s Malfoy, Harry?” Ernie asked.

“No,” said Harry, so firmly that Ernie and Hannah stared.

A second later, Harry spotted something.

Several large spiders were scuttling over the ground on the other side of the glass, moving in an unnaturally straight line as though taking the shortest route to a prearranged meeting. Harry hit Ron over the hand with his pruning shears.

“Ouch! What’re you-”

Harry pointed out the spiders, following their progress with his eyes screwed up against the sun.

“Oh, yeah,” said Ron, trying, and failing, to look pleased, “But we can’t follow them now-”

Ernie and Hannah were listening curiously.

Harry’s eyes narrowed as he focused on the spiders. If they pursued their fixed course, there could be no doubt about where they would end up.

“Looks like they’re heading for the Forbidden Forest…”

And Ron looked even unhappier about that.

At the end of the lesson Professor Sprout escorted the class to their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. Harry and Ron lagged behind the others so they could talk out of earshot.

“We’ll have to use the Invisibility Cloak again,” Harry told Ron. “We can take Fang with us. He’s used to going into the forest with Hagrid, he might be some help.”

“I’m not going to follow spiders!” Ron said as he thought of a way to get out of it, “Instead, you can take John!”

“You’d rather do schoolwork?” Harry asked incredulous.

“In this case,” Ron said sternly, “yes.”

Ron had never been into the Forbidden Forest before. Harry had entered it only once and had hoped never to do so again.

Lockhart bounded into the room and the class stared at him. Every other teacher in the place was looking grimmer than usual, but Lockhart appeared nothing short of buoyant.

“Come now,” he cried, beaming around him, “Why all these long faces?”

People swapped exasperated looks, but nobody answered.

“Don’t you people realize,” said Lockhart, speaking slowly, as though they were all a bit dim, “the danger has passed! The culprit has been taken away-”

“Says who?” said Dean Thomas loudly.

“My dear young man, the Minister of Magic wouldn’t have taken Hagrid if he hadn’t been one hundred percent sure that he was guilty,” said Lockhart, in the tone of someone explaining that one and one made two.

“Oh, yes he would,” said Ron, even more loudly than Dean.

“I flatter myself I know a touch more about Hagrid’s arrest than you do, Mr. Weasley,” said Lockhart in a self-satisfied tone.

Ron started to say that he didn’t think so, somehow, but stopped in mid sentence when Harry kicked him hard under the desk.

“We weren’t there, remember?” Harry muttered.

John also did his best not to hex the egotistical asshat or admit he was in Hagrid’s hut the night of his arrest. Well, technically he wasn’t. However, he doesn’t want to reveal that ability just yet. Also, the fact he used astral projection wouldn’t matter.

But Lockhart’s disgusting cheeriness, his hints that he had always thought Hagrid was no good, his confidence that the whole business was now at an end, irritated Harry so much that he yearned to throw _Gadding with Ghouls_ right in Lockhart’s stupid face. Instead he contented himself with scrawling a note to Ron: _You can be my alibi incase someone suspects me of going into the forest_.

Ron read the message, swallowed hard due to the danger factor of being caught in a lie, and looked sideways at the empty seat usually filled by Hermione. The sight seemed to stiffen his resolve, and he nodded.

The Gryffindor common room was always very crowded these days, because from six o’clock onward the Gryffindors had nowhere else to go. They also had plenty to talk about, with the result that the common room often didn’t empty until past midnight.

The Gryffindor common room was always very crowded these days, because from six o’clock onward the Gryffindors had nowhere else to go. They also had plenty to talk about, with the result that the common room often didn’t empty until past midnight.

Harry went to get the Invisibility Cloak out of his trunk right after dinner, and spent the evening sitting on it, waiting for the room to clear. Fred and George challenged Harry and Ron to a few games of Exploding Snap, and Ginny sat watching them, very subdued in Hermione’s usual chair. Harry and Ron kept losing on purpose, trying to finish the games quickly, but even so, it was well past midnight when Fred, George, and Ginny finally went to bed.

Harry waited for the distant sounds of two dormitory doors closing before seizing the cloak, but just before he could through it on an apparition shimmered in front of him. He gave a startled yelp as he jumped backwards. Once he got a good look at the apparition, Harry relaxed a bit. He was still irked though.

“Bloody hell John!” Harry exclaimed, “Don’t do that!”

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want,” John grunted still irritated at Lockhart.

“Why you in your astrology form instead of popping out of the fireplace?” Ron asked.

“Astral form you, dimwit,” John replied rudely before he stared directly at Harry.

“I received your message about the forest,” John said bluntly, “and I have decided to help you, but…”

“See!” Ron said relieved forgetting about John’s rudeness entirely, “I don’t have to go because he’s going!”

Harry didn’t respond because he watched as John stared at Ron with a blank expression on his face.

“What?” Ron asked nervously when he saw what Harry was staring at.

“None of you are going,” John finished as he looked back at Harry.

“What?!” Harry exclaimed.

“Use your sense!” John said a little irked, “You have no sure way to survive an entire nest, hive, or whatever of spiders! Especially, Acromantulas! I’ve come across them before. Sure, Hagrid was there to save us. However, this time… this time I won’t have to go there in person.”

“You’re saying that should something go wrong you could just vanish and I can’t?” Harry accused.

“You have no talent for astral projection, Potter,” John said as he stared directly into Harry’s green eyes, “You would not survive this excursion… especially not without something to come to your rescue. Not even Firenze would be able to help you.”

“I can’t stand by and do nothing while Hagrid is in wizard prison!” Harry said sternly.

“And you won’t!” John said loudly.

“Instead,” John added with a quieter voice, “you’ll sneak down to the library and figure out what Ritchie and Hermione were doing before they became Hogwarts’ next set of statues.”

When John said that, Harry realized John was right. There’s more of as chance of finding out what actually attacked the muggle-borns if they followed two leads at the same time. Harry nodded his agreement once and with that, John shimmered away.

“You’re still going to be my alibi, Ron,” Harry said as he threw the invisibility cloak over his person.

**Meanwhile, with John…**

John massaged his temples as he got up from his bed. Making the Potter boy see sense was a real chore. However, there’s more chance of Potter coming to the same conclusion than the idiot named Ron. He immediately grabbed his tan raincoat and put it on over his white button down shirt. He also picked up his red tie and tied it loosely on his person. He already had his black dress pants and dress shoes on, so he didn’t need to put them on. He quietly snuck down into the Ravenclaw common room and headed towards the lavatory.

“What are you up to, John?” asked a feminine voice from behind him. He turned to see both Phoebe and Anne staring at him. He noticed that Anne had chosen a loose shirt that hovered off of her stomach and ended at her bottom rib. She also had pink pajama bottoms on. Phoebe’s was similar, but of a different color and not as revealing.

“My job,” John said vaguely.

“You haven’t received any job requests in the mail,” Anne sighed as she walked towards him, “so I know you’re not going on a job.”

“Where I’m going…” John said finally as he stared at them for a minute, “you can’t follow.”

“What do you mean?” Anne asked confused.

“I’m going to the boy’s section of the lavatory,” John smirked as he gestured towards the lavatory.

“Oh,” Anne said believing John… if only a little.

“Well,” Anne said as she walked towards phoebe, “good night then, John. Come along Phoebe."

John immediately headed into the lavatory and sat down in a stall before he closed his eyes.

About a second later, he shimmered into existence outside of Hagrid’s house, which was sad and sorry-looking with its blank windows. When John began to walk past the hut, loud barking began. That could only mean one thing. Fang was awake and saw him. With an irritated grunt, he turned towards the front door and headed towards it. When he got there, he pushed the door open. Worried Fang might wake everyone at the castle with his deep, booming barks, John hastily fed him treacle fudge from a tin on the mantelpiece, which glued his teeth together.

“Stay quiet you loudmouth,” John said as he looked at the dog, “I’m going to go into the forest to ask some Acromantulas a question. If the answer is what i’m thinking it will be… your master will be able to return. Most likely at the end of the year, though.”

The dog just stared at John uncomprehendingly as the exorcist exited the hut and began his way towards the forest.

**Later, inside the Forbidden Forest…**

John walked behind the normal sized spiders he saw making a line in the ground as they scurried along in a line for about twenty minutes, not speaking, listening hard for noises other than breaking twigs and rustling leaves. Then, when the trees had become thicker than ever, so that the stars overhead were no longer visible, and John’s unique contacts he inserted into his eyes allowed him to see in the darkness, he saw their spider guides leaving the path.

John paused, trying to see where the spiders were going, but even with his special contacts he couldn’t see that far. He had only been this deep into the forest once before. He could vividly remember Hagrid advising him not to leave the forest path last time he’d been in here. But Hagrid was miles away now, probably sitting in a cell in Azkaban, and he had also said to follow the spiders.

He breathed in and out deeply once before he followed the darting shadows of the spiders into the trees. He couldn’t move very quickly now; there were tree roots and stumps in his way, barely visible in the near blackness. More than once, he had to stop, so that John could crouch down and find the spiders with his special contacts.

He walked for what seemed like at least half an hour, his raincoat robes snagging on low-slung branches and brambles. After a while, he noticed that the ground seemed to be sloping downward, though the trees were as thick as ever.

John almost took a step forward, but he suddenly stopped when he heard a sound. He could feel his heart hammering as he listened. While it wasn’t his actual body that was in danger, he was still unnerved a bit. After all, the last time he’d been this deep into the forest he was with his pratt of a cousin and the useless lump called Neville. Sure, they weren’t of much help. However, it was really the fact he wasn’t alone that had kept him calm. Not like now. Some distance to their right, the something big was snapping branches as it carved a path through the trees.

The darkness seemed to be pressing on his eyeballs as he stood, terrified, waiting. There was a strange rumbling noise and then silence.

He quickly muttered a harmless spell to determine if there was a danger nearby or not, and fortunately there wasn’t. Except for the random snake and other small creatures of course. However, there seemed to be a less amount in this area than the areas closer to Hagrid’s hut. He let out an audible sigh of relief, and resumed his trek.

He only made it a few feet before he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up straight. He slowly turned around with a few fear-based sweat beads having formed. He paled at what he saw. It was the biggest Acromantula he had even seen. Even bigger than the ones he saw in his first year.

“Oh bugger,” John said right before he was lifted off the ground, so that he was hanging facedown. Struggling, terrified, he heard clicking, and heard two heavy thuds hit the ground. The next second later, he was being swept away into the dark trees.

Head hanging, John saw that what had hold of him was marching on six immensely long, hairy legs, the front two clutching him tightly below a pair of shining black pincers. Behind him, he could hear another of the creatures, no doubt carrying Ron. They were moving into the very heart of the forest. He wanted to yell for the eight-legged monster to set him free, but he seemed to have left his voice back with the car in the clearing

He never knew how long he was in the creature’s clutches; he only knew that the darkness suddenly lifted enough for him to see that the leaf-strewn ground was now swarming with spiders. Craning his neck sideways, he realized that they had reached the ridge of a vast hollow, a hollow that had been cleared of trees, so that the stars shone brightly onto the worst scene he had ever laid eyes on.

Acromantulas. Not all of them were the size of carthorses, eight-eyed, eight-legged, black, hairy, gigantic. They were of random huge sizes, and some had fat butts with short legs, and some had small butts with long legs. In either case… it was the amount that terrified him. There were so many that Hogwarts was lucky the Acromantulas prefer areas like these. Everyone would be dead if the monsters got out. The massive specimen that was carrying John made its way down the steep slope toward a misty, domed web in the very center of the hollow, while its fellows closed in all around it, clicking their pincers excitedly at the sight of its load.

John fell to the ground on all fours as the spider released him. He pulled out a stone of some kind and held it in his fist, but didn’t move as he sat in a kneeling position.

John suddenly realized that the spider that had dropped him was saying something. It had been hard to tell, because he clicked his pincers with every word he spoke.

“Aragog!” it called. “Aragog!”

And from the middle of the misty, domed web, a spider the size of a small elephant emerged, very slowly. There was gray in the black of his body and legs, and each of the eyes on his ugly, pincered head was milky white. He was blind.

“What is it?” he said, clicking his pincers rapidly.

“Man,” clicked the spider who had caught Harry.

“Is it Hagrid?” said Aragog, moving closer, his eight milky eyes wandering vaguely.

“A Stranger,” clicked a different spider.

“Kill him,” clicked Aragog fretfully. “I was sleeping…”

“I’m a friend of Hagrid’s,” John shouted. His heart seemed to have left his chest to pound in his throat. However, he forced himself to his foot and when he heard the sound of the Acromantula behind him preparing to attack he threw the rock right into its mouth. Suddenly, the Acromantula screamed an inhuman and bloodcurdling scream as it scurried about randomly and convulsed. Eventually, it tripped on protruding root and landed on its back where it lay still with its legs having curled up.

“Hagrid would not approve of you killing any of us,” growled Aragog angrily, “and for that matter… neither do I.”

“Shut your ugly mug,” John spat, “I defended myself. That Acromantula was just about to attack.”

Aragog stayed silent for a second while his children clicked angrily and moved restlessly. Eventually he grunted an acceptance of the situation and elected to speak with John… for now.

“Hagrid has never sent a man into our hollow before,” he said slowly.

“Hagrid’s in trouble,” said John, breathing very fast. “That’s why I ‘followed the spiders’ as Hagrid put it.”

“In trouble?” asked the aged spider, and John thought he heard concern beneath the clicking pincers. “But why has he sent you?”

“He couldn’t even if he wanted to,” John replied.

“What do you mean?” Aragog asked confused.

“They think, up at the school, that Hagrid’s been setting a… a… something on students. They’ve taken him to Azkaban.”

Aragog clicked his pincers furiously, and all around the hollow the sound was echoed by the crowd of spiders; it was like applause, except applause didn’t usually make Harry feel sick with fear.

“But that was years ago,” said Aragog fretfully. “Years and years ago. I remember it well. That’s why they made him leave the school. They believed that I was the monster that dwells in what they call the Chamber of Secrets. They thought that Hagrid had opened the Chamber and set me free.”

“Something tells me they were wrong,” John guessed correctly.

“I!” said Aragog, clicking angrily but not at John. “I was not born in the castle. I come from a distant land. A traveler gave me to Hagrid when I was an egg. Hagrid was only a boy, but he cared for me, hidden in a cupboard in the castle, feeding me on scraps from the table. Hagrid is my good friend, and a good man. When I was discovered, and blamed for the death of a girl, he protected me. I have lived here in the forest ever since, where Hagrid still visits me. He even found me a wife, Mosag, and you see how our family has grown, all through Hagrid’s goodness…”

 _Yeah, a whole army of carnivorous death-machines,_ thought John dryly.

“So then,” John asked, “You’ve never killed a human? Not even in self-defense.”

“Never,” croaked the old spider. “It would have been my instinct, but out of respect for Hagrid, I never harmed a human. The body of the girl who was killed was discovered in a bathroom. I never saw any part of the castle but the cupboard in which I grew up. Our kind like the dark and the quiet…”

“Really?” John said sarcastically, “I couldn’t tell.”

“Sarcasm…” Aragog said bluntly, “is not a trait the Acromantula respects. You should do well to remember that, should you survive this night. However, just this once… I’ll forgive you for the rudeness.”

“Do you at least know the monster that killed that girl from fifty years ago?” John asked in order to change the subject, “I need to know, because it’s back. The attacks have-”

His words were drowned by a loud outbreak of clicking and the rustling of many long legs shifting angrily; large black shapes shifted all around him.

“The thing that lives in the castle,” said Aragog with a tinge of fear and hate, “is an ancient creature we spiders fear above all others. Well do I remember how I pleaded with Hagrid to let me go, when I sensed the beast moving about the school.”

“What is it?” asked John urgently.

More loud clicking, more rustling; the spiders seemed to be closing in.

“We do not speak of it!” said Aragog fiercely. “We do not name it! I never even told Hagrid the name of that dread creature, though he asked me, many times.”

“Then don’t name it!” John said a little irritated, “just describe it or give me a clue at least!”

“We. Do. Not. Speak. Of. It,” Aragog repeated getting angry. John looked around him and was honestly terrified. He was beginning to see why Ron fears spiders so much.

John didn’t want to press the subject anymore, not with the spiders pressing closer on all sides. Aragog seemed to be tired of talking. He was backing slowly into his domed web, but his fellow spiders continued to inch slowly toward John.

“I’ll just go, then,” Harry called to Aragog, hearing leaves rustling behind him. He was calmer, because he remembered at that moment that he was actually in his astral form.

“Go?” said Aragog slowly. “I think not…”

“Oh really?” John said dryly, “As if you could stop me.”

“My sons and daughters do not harm Hagrid, on my command. But I cannot deny them fresh meat, when it wanders so willingly into our midst. Good-bye, friend of Hagrid.”

“Too bad you can’t see anymore,” John said as he began to laugh, “because all your ‘children’ are going to taste is air.”

“What?” asked Aragog as he stopped moving at the same time as the rest of the Acromantulas stopped clicking and moving. Even the Acromantula about to chomp down on John’s head stopped an inch away from John.

“How is that so?” Aragog asked.

“I’m not really here,” John explained, “It’s a little thing I like to call astral projection. It allows me to safely project myself anywhere I want.”

“Impossible…” Aragog whispered with renewed vigor, “I’ve heard tale of such a power, but it was lost to the ages.”

“Well, take a good sniff,” John said with a smirk, “all you’ll smell is the rotting form of the one I sent to the great beyond.”

Aragog did just that and widened his blind eyes as much as a spider could. Which was not at all, because a spider’s eyes are always open wide.

“The prophecy…” Aragog whispered, “Can it be?”

“What’s this about a prophecy?” John asked both intrigued and concerned.

“There is a prophecy among our kind…” Aragog explained, “It tells of a wizard with powers unlike any other in the world of man. A wizard of royal descent. The two halves of a coin shall meet, and one shall overcome the other. One shall be winged while the other slithers. Yet both shall speak the same. A king of dragons and a lord of serpents.”

“That it?” John asked a little bit disappointed.

“Yes,” Aragog replied.

“Good luck on your quest,” Aragog said, “I sincerely hope you are the victor.”

“Victor of what?” John asked. However, Aragog ignored him as he crawled back into his hole. It became clear that he wasn’t going to get an answer about this, and so he closed his eyes and after a few seconds he opened them again. This time he was in the boy’s lavatory, and not in the forest.

John exited the bathroom, and headed towards the stairs that led up to the 2nd year boy’s dormitory. When he reached his bed, he took off his coat and draped it on a chair along with his tie. He removed his dress shoes, shirt, and pants before collapsing on his bed. As he lay there awake he stared at the ceiling without really staring. He thought very hard on what Aragog told him.

The creature that was lurking somewhere in the castle, he thought, sounded like a sort of monster Voldemort… even other monsters didn’t want to name it. But he was no closer to finding out what it was, or how it petrified its victims. Even Hagrid had never known what was in the Chamber of Secrets.

He couldn’t see what else he could do. He had hit dead ends everywhere. Riddle had caught the wrong person, the Heir of Slytherin had got off, and no one could tell whether it was the same person, or a different one, who had opened the Chamber this time. There was nobody else to ask. Maybe Harry had better luck.

He was becoming drowsy when what seemed like what could be their very last hope, should Harry have the same amount of luck as him, occurred to him, and he suddenly sat bolt upright.

“No way…” John said to himself, “It can’t be.”

“That girl who died,” John continued thinking out loud, “Aragog said she was found in a bathroom.”

“What if she never left the bathroom?” John continued as he ignored his roomates snores, “What if she’s still there?”


	14. Chamber of Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John comes to terms with the idea of being the Heir of Gryffindor, speaks the dragon equivalent to parseltongue which is close enough they get confused. John opens and enters the Chamber

Chapter 14: Chamber of Secrets

The next day, John sat at the Gryffindor table in the dining hall and told both Ron and Harry about his conversation with Aragog. However, he elected to keep the bit concerning the prophecy to himself. Harry then told John about his venture into the library and just like the previous year, he hit a dead in. At that point Ron decided to speak after angrily plopping pancakes and sausages onto his plate.

“All those times we were in that bathroom, and she was just three toilets away,” said Ron bitterly at breakfast, “and we could’ve asked her, and now…”

If Ron and Harry had gone into the forest with John, it would’ve been hard trying to look for spiders and of course surviving them. Escaping their teachers long enough to sneak into a girls’ bathroom, the girls’ bathroom, moreover, right next to the scene of the first attack, was going to be almost impossible.

But something happened in their first lesson, Transfiguration, that drove the Chamber of Secrets out of their minds for the first time in weeks. Ten minutes into the class, Professor McGonagall told them that their exams would start on the first of June, one week from today.

 _“Exams?”_ howled Seamus Finnigan. “We’re still getting exams?”

“What did you expect?” John asked dryly, “This is still a school, and it doesn’t matter if there are attacks or not. Education is much more important… while there’s a space between attacks of course. At least to the teachers.”

There was a loud bang behind Harry as Neville Longbottom’s wand slipped, vanishing one of the legs on his desk. Professor McGonagall restored it with a wave of her own wand, and turned, frowning, to Seamus.

“The whole point of keeping the school open at this time is for you to receive your education,” she said sternly. “The exams will therefore take place as usual, and I trust you are all studying hard.”

She then turned to John and regarded him.

“You really are a smart young man,” Professor McGonagall commented, “it’s as if you’re a teacher yourself. However, your intelligence won’t earn you and special favors from me.”

“What about getting out of doing Lockhart’s exam?” John asked hopefully.

“Ah…” Minerva said with a frown.

“Lockhart,” Minerva practically spat.

“Unfortunately,” Minerva said genuinely sympathetic, “I can’t get you out of the egotist’s exam. I’m sure Dumbledore would have granted your request, but I’m not dumbledore. No matter the teacher, all of the exam’s are important.”

“All he’ll ask is what people learned about him,” John deadpanned. Several of the boys voiced their agreement.

“No doubt,” minerva agreed.

“Now, back to Transfiguration class,” Minerva said sternly to bring them back to the topic at hand, “I suggest you all study hard for next week. That goes for all of your classes too… no matter how useless they might be at this time.”

Studying hard! It had never occurred to Harry that there would be exams with the castle in this state. There was a great deal of mutinous muttering around the room, which made Professor McGonagall scowl even more darkly.

“Professor Dumbledore’s instructions were to keep the school running as normally as possible, she said. “And that, I need hardly point out, means finding out how much you have learned this year.”

Harry looked down at the pair of white rabbits he was supposed to be turning into slippers. What had he learned so far this year? He couldn’t seem to think of anything that would be useful in an exam.

“Professor…” John said as he looked at his rabbits as well.

“Yes, John?” Minerva said as she turned to look at him.

“I still don’t have a functional wand…” John said sourly, “all thanks to Lockhart’s dwarvish valentine celebration. How exactly am I going to do the exams?”

“Yeah!” Ron put in, “Same here!”

“Oh dear…” McGonagall sighed, “I suppose I’ll talk to the other teachers about that for the two of you at least. Broken wands will indeed hamper your learning progress.”

Three days before their first exam, Professor McGonagall made another announcement at breakfast.

“I have good news,” she said, and the Great Hall, instead of falling silent, erupted.

“Dumbledore’s coming back!” several people yelled joyfully.

“You’ve caught the Heir of Slytherin!” squealed a girl at the Ravenclaw table.

“Quidditch matches are back on!” roared Wood excitedly.

When the hubbub had subsided, Professor McGonagall said, “Professor Sprout has informed me that the Mandrakes are ready for cutting at last. Tonight, we will be able to revive those people who have been Petrified. I need hardly remind you all that one of them may well be able to tell us who, or what, attacked them. I am hopeful that this dreadful year will end with our catching the culprit.”

There was an explosion of cheering. Harry looked over at the Slytherin table and wasn’t at all surprised to see that Draco Malfoy hadn’t joined in. Ron, however, was looking happier than he’d looked in days.

“It won’t matter that we never asked Myrtle, then!” he said to Harry. “Hermione’ll probably have all the answers when they wake her up! Mind you, she’ll go crazy when she finds out we’ve got exams in three days’ time. She hasn’t studied. It might be kinder to leave her where she is till they’re over.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Prue said from across the table, “Things like these… usually end up sneaking up on you. You’ll end up asking that ghost anyway.”

“What are you talking about?” Ron asked nervously.

“You’re wanting to ask how she died,” Prue said bluntly, “and what she knows about the Chamber… unless you’ve already asked the latter.”

“John told you…” Harry realized.

“Actually no,” Prue shook her head, “Phoebe told me. John told Anne who then told her.”

Just then, Ginny Weasley came over and sat down next to Ron. She looked tense and nervous, and Harry noticed that her hands were twisting in her lap.

“What’s up?” said Ron, helping himself to more porridge.

Ginny didn’t say anything, but glanced up and down the Gryffindor table with a scared look on her face that reminded Harry of someone, th

ough he couldn’t think who.

“Spit it out,” said Ron, watching her.

Harry suddenly realized who Ginny looked like. She was rocking backward and forward slightly in her chair, exactly like Dobby did when he was teetering on the edge of revealing forbidden information.

“I’ve got to tell you something,” Ginny mumbled, carefully not looking at Harry.

“What is it?” asked Harry.

Ginny looked as though she couldn’t find the right words.

 _“What?”_ asked Ron.

Ginny opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Harry leaned forward and spoke quietly, so that only Ginny and Ron could hear him.

“Is it something about the Chamber of Secrets? Have you seen something? Someone acting oddly?”

Ginny drew a deep breath and, at that precise moment, Percy Weasley appeared, looking tired and wan.

“If you’ve finished eating, I’ll take that seat, Ginny. I’m starving, I’ve only just come off patrol duty.”

Ginny jumped up as though her chair had just been electrified, gave Percy a fleeting, frightened look, and scampered away. Percy sat down and grabbed a mug from the center of the table.

“Percy!” said Ron angrily. “She was just about to tell us something important!”

Halfway through a gulp of tea, Percy choked.

“What sort of thing?” he said, coughing.

“I just asked her if she’d seen anything odd, and she started to say…”

“Oh… that… that’s nothing to do with the Chamber of Secrets,” said Percy at once.

“How do you know?” said Ron, his eyebrows raised.

“Well, er, if you must know, Ginny, er, walked in on me the other day when I was… well, never mind… the point is, she spotted me doing something and I, um, I asked her not to mention it to anybody. I must say, I did think she’d keep her word. It’s nothing, really, I’d just rather-”

Harry had never seen Percy look so uncomfortable.

“What were you doing, Percy?” said Ron, grinning. “Go on, tell us, we won’t laugh.”

Percy didn’t smile back.

“Pass me those rolls, Harry, I’m starving.”

Harry knew the whole mystery might be solved tomorrow without their help, but he wasn’t about to pass up a chance to speak to Myrtle if it turned up… and to his delight it did, midmorning, when they were being led to History of Magic by Gilderoy Lockhart.

Lockhart, who had so often assured them that all danger had passed, only to be proved wrong right away, was now wholeheartedly convinced that it was hardly worth the trouble to see them safely down the corridors. His hair wasn’t as sleek as usual; it seemed he had been up most of the night, patrolling the fourth floor.

“Mark my words,” he said, ushering them around a corner. “The first words out of those poor Petrified people’s mouths will be ‘ _It was Hagrid._ ’ Frankly, I’m astounded Professor McGonagall thinks all these security measures are necessary.”

“I agree, sir,” said Harry, making Ron drop his books in surprise.

“Thank you, Harry,” said Lockhart graciously while they waited for a long line of Hufflepuffs to pass. “I mean, we teachers have quite enough to be getting on with, without walking students to classes and standing guard all night…”

“That’s right,” said Ron, catching on. “Why don’t you leave us here, sir, we’ve only got one more corridor to go-”

“You know, Weasley, I think I will,” said Lockhart. “I really should go and prepare my next class-”

And he hurried off.

“Prepare his class,” Ron sneered after him. “Gone to curl his hair, more like.”

They let the rest of the Gryffindors draw ahead of them, then darted down a side passage and hurried off toward Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. But just as they were congratulating each other on their brilliant scheme.

“Potter! Weasley! What are you doing?”

It was Professor McGonagall, and her mouth was the thinnest of thin lines.

“We were - we were-” Ron stammered. “We were going to - to go and see-”

“Hermione,” said Harry. Ron and Professor McGonagall both looked at him.

“We haven’t seen her for ages, Professor,” Harry went on hurriedly, treading on Ron’s foot, “and we thought we’d sneak into the hospital wing, you know, and tell her the Mandrakes are nearly ready and, er, not to worry-”

Professor McGonagall was still staring at him, and for a moment, Harry thought she was going to explode, but when she spoke, it was in a strangely croaky voice.

“Of course,” she said, and Harry, amazed, saw a tear glistening in her beady eye. “Of course, I realize this has all been hardest on the friends of those who have been… I quite understand. Yes, Potter, of course you may visit Miss Granger. I will inform Professor Binns where you’ve gone. Tell Madam Pomfrey I have given my permission.”

Harry and Ron walked away, hardly daring to believe that they’d avoided detention. As they turned the corner, they distinctly heard Professor McGonagall blow her nose.

“That,” said Ron fervently, “was the best story you’ve ever come up with.”

They had no choice now but to go to the hospital wing and tell Madam Pomfrey that they had Professor McGonagall’s permission to visit Hermione.

Madam Pomfrey let them in, but reluctantly.

“There’s just no point talking to a Petrified. person,” she said, and they had to admit she had a point when they’d taken their seats next to Hermione. It was plain that Hermione didn’t have the faintest inkling that she had visitors, and that they might just as well tell her bedside cabinet not to worry for all the good it would do.

“Wonder if she did see the attacker, though?” said Ron, looking sadly at Hermione’s rigid face. “Because if he sneaked up on them all, no one’ll ever know…”

But Harry wasn’t looking at Hermione’s face. He was more interested in her right hand. It lay clenched on top of her blankets, and bending closer, he saw that a piece of paper was scrunched inside her fist.

Making sure that Madam Pomfrey was nowhere near, he pointed this out to Ron.

“Go on and get it out,” Ron whispered, shifting his chair so that he blocked Harry from Madam Pomfrey’s view.

However, before Harry could they could hear the sounds of footsteps getting closer.

“I’ll allow you visitation with the Granger girl and the Ravenclaw boy,” said the voice of Madam Pomfrey, “but don’t expect this means I’ll let you use your so called “muggle-magic” to try and reverse the petrification.”

Harry and Ron turned to look behind them and saw that John was walking forward with his hands in his pockets alongside Madam Pomfrey who had an irritated expression.

“Don’t take all day boys. You still have classes to take,” Madam Pomfrey said before she turned and walked off.

Harry immediately turned towards Hermione again so he could remove the paper from her hand. It was no easy task. Hermione’s hand was clamped so tightly around the paper that Harry was sure he was going to tear it. While Ron kept watch he tugged and twisted, and at last, after several tense minutes, the paper came free.

It was a page torn from a very old library book. Harry smoothed it out eagerly and Ron leaned close to read it, too. Unfortunately, it was in some text that neither of them could understand.

“Uh…” Harry said as he turned to look at John who was staring angrily at the petrified form of Ritche.

“What?” John asked a little bit ruder than he intended.

“We found this paper in Hermione’s hand,” Harry said as he held it up, “unfortunately we can’t read it.”

John took the paper from Harry and looked over it.

“Its written in old gaelic,” John deduced as he looked back over them, “and fortunately for you, I can read the language.”

“You can?!” Ron asked in awe.

“Aye,” John nodded his head as he looked at the paper again, “and it looks like Hermione can as well. Makes sense as she loves to read and study.”

“What does it say?” Harry asked.

John cleared his throat for a second and straightened the paper as much as possible.

“Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land,” John read, “there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken’s egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it.”

And beneath this, a single word had been written, in a hand Harry recognized as Hermione’s. _Pipes._

“Ah fuck,” John grunted in annoyance, “I already read this before! How is it I always forget the most important stuff when dealing with mysteries like the ones we face?!?!?!”

However Harry wasn’t listening as he was thinking about something else. It was as though somebody had just flicked a light on in his brain.

“Ron,” he breathed. “This is it. This is the answer. The monster in the Chamber’s a basilisk - a giant serpent! _That’s_ why I’ve been hearing that voice all over the place, and nobody else has heard it. It’s because I understand Parseltongue…”

“That may explain you mate,” John frowned, “but how come I could understand the slithering beast?”

“That’s a good question,” Harry frowned as well, “Maybe you’re the actual heir of Slytherin?”

That earned Harry one of John’s infamous glare and snarl combos, which unnerved the Potter boy immensely.

“Take that back!” John hissed angrily.

“Okay okay!” Harry said placatingly, “It was just a possibility! I didn’t actually believe it!”

Satisfied with Harry’s response, John calmed down. That was when he remembered the prophecy. Or rather, some of it.

“Both shall speak the same,” John muttered to himself, “a king of dragons and a lord of serpents…”

“What are you saying?” Harry asked as he wasn’t sure what John muttered.

“Nothing,” John shook his head.

Harry looked up at the beds around him before he brought them back to the topic at hand.

“The basilisk kills people by looking at them. But no one’s died… because no one looked it straight in the eye. Colin saw it through his camera. The basilisk burned up all the film inside it, but Colin just got Petrified. Justin… Justin must’ve seen the basilisk through Nearly Headless Nick! Nick got the full blast of it, but he couldn’t die again… and Hermione and that Ravenclaw prefect were found with a mirror next to them. Hermione had just realized the monster was a basilisk. I bet you anything she warned the first person she met to look around corners with a mirror first! And Ritchie might’ve seen it in one of the mirrors on the walls around the school’s - and-”

Rons jaw had dropped.

“And Mrs. Norris?” he whispered eagerly.

Harry thought hard, picturing the scene on the night of Halloween.

“The water…” he said slowly, “The flood from Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. I bet you Mrs. Norris only saw the reflection…”

He scanned the page in his hand eagerly. The more he looked at it, the more it made sense.

“… _The crowing of the rooster… is fatal to it_ ”! he read aloud. “Hagrid’s roosters were killed! The Heir of Slytherin didn’t want one anywhere near the castle once the Chamber was opened! _Spiders flee before it._ It all fits!”

“But how’s the basilisk been getting around the place?” said Ron. “A giant snake… Someone would’ve seen…”

“Hermione figured that out for us,” John said as he handed them the paper, “pipes.”

“That means its been using the plumbing,” Harry said thoughtfully, “I’ve been hearing that voice inside the walls…”

Ron suddenly grabbed Harry’s arm.

“The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets!” he said hoarsely. “What if it’s a bathroom? What if it’s in-”

“Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom,” said Harry.

They sat there, excitement coursing through them, hardly able to believe it.

“This means,” said Harry, “I can’t be the only Parselmouth in the school. The Heir of Slytherin’s one, too. That’s how he’s been controlling the basilisk.”

“How closely related do you think Basilisks are to dragons?” John asked eventually.

“I think Charlie’s the best person to ask,” Ron shrugged. John merely nodded his agreement.

“Why’d you ask that?” Ron asked curious.

“I think Dumbledore may have been right,” John muttered to himself, “I might actually be the last Heir of Godric Gryffindor.”

Unknown to John, Ron heard that and widened his eyes. He dropped a jaw but shook his head so he could focus on the crisis at hand.

“What’re we going to do?” said Ron, whose eyes were flashing. “Should we go straight to McGonagall?”

“Let’s go to the staff room,” said Harry, jumping up. “She’ll be there in ten minutes. It’s nearly break.”

They ran downstairs. Not wanting to be discovered hanging around in another corridor, they went straight into the deserted staff room. It was a large, paneled room full of dark, wooden chairs. Harry and Ron paced around it, too excited to sit down.

But the bell to signal break never came.

Instead, echoing through the corridors came Professor McGonagall’s voice, magically magnified.

“All students to return to their House dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staff room. Immediately, please. John Constantine… I’d like you to meet us as well.”

Harry wheeled around to stare at Ron. “Not another attack? Not now?”

“What’ll we do?” said Ron, aghast. “Go back to the dormitory?”

“No,” said Harry, glancing around. There was an ugly sort of wardrobe to his left, full of the teachers’ cloaks. “In here. Let’s hear what it’s all about. Then we can tell them what we’ve found out.”

Harry and Ron hid themselves inside it, listening to the rumbling of hundreds of people moving overhead, and the staff room door banging open. From between the musty folds of the cloaks, they watched the teachers filtering into the room. Some of them were looking puzzled, others downright scared. Then Professor McGonagall arrived.

“It has happened,” she told the silent staff room. “A student has been taken by the monster. Right into the Chamber itself.”

Professor Flitwick let out a squeal. Professor Sprout clapped her hands over her mouth. Snape gripped the back of a chair very hard and said, “How can you be sure?”

“The Heir of Slytherin,” said Professor McGonagall, who was very white, “left another message. Right underneath the first one. _‘Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.’_ ”

Professor Flitwick burst into tears.

“Who is it?” said Madam Hooch, who had sunk, weak-kneed, into a chair. “Which student?”

“Ginny Weasley,” said Professor McGonagall.

Harry felt Ron slide silently down onto the wardrobe floor beside him.

“We shall have to send all the students home tomorrow,” said Professor McGonagall. “This is the end of Hogwarts. Dumbledore always said…”

The staffroom door banged open again. For one wild moment, Harry was sure it would be Dumbledore. But it was Lockhart, and he was beaming.

“So sorry - dozed off - what have I missed?”

He didn’t seem to notice that the other teachers and John were looking at him with something remarkably like hatred. Snape stepped forward.

“Just the man,” he said. “The very man. A girl has been snatched by the monster, Lockhart. Taken into the Chamber of Secrets itself. Your moment has come at last.”

Lockhart blanched.

“That’s right, Gilderoy,” chipped in Professor Sprout. “Weren’t you saying just last night that you’ve known all along where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is?”

“I - well, I -”sputtered Lockhart.

“Yes, didn’t you tell me you were sure you knew what was inside it?” piped up Professor Flitwick.

“D-did I? I don’t recall -”

“I know what it is,” John spoke up finally. At that everyone looked at him, because they actually believed it was possible. Well, Lockhart was less than pleased, because he was being one-upped by a kid.

“Then what is it?” Professor McGonagall asked kindly and urgently.

“It’s a Basilisk,” John revealed.

“A Basilisk…” murmured the teachers except for Professor Binns who was the skeptic of the bunch.

“Preposterous,” said the ghostly teacher, “Those creatures aren’t real! They’re as mythical as the Greek Gods.”

“You also thought the Chamber of Secrets was a myth,” John deadpanned.

“I’ll admit I may have been wrong about that,” Binns said irked, “but this whole ordeal may have just been at the hands of a lunatic roaming these walls.”

“What proof do you have about your claim?” Snape asked with a neither kind nor mean tone.

“This,” John said as he produced the paper, “It was in Hermione’s hand.”

Professor McGonagall took the paper and looked at it, but was confused.

“I don’t…” Professor McGonagall trailed off.

“It’s old gaelic,” John explained, “and it talks about several things. Have you seen the spiders that have been scurrying away from the castle in a herd?”

The teachers all nodded except for Binns who spends most of his time in his classroom.

“The parchment says that spiders flee from it,” John said, “and apparently the rooster call is deadly to the Basilisk, and that’s why Hagrid’s roosters were killed.”

“Okay,” snape said slowly, “I’m beginning to believe you’re right, but how did the beast attack?”

“It kills by staring its victims in the eyes,” John said, “and before you start being skeptical again, none of the victims stared directly into it. Hermione and Ritchie used mirrors, Justin stared through Nearly Headless Nick. Nick got the full brunt of the attack, but he’s a ghost already so he can’t die. Mrs. Norris looked into the puddle of water that was outside of Moaning Myrtle's water closet. That Creevey kid? He had a camera and loved to take picture of things.”

“I’m sold,” Flitwick said with pride for one of his house’s students.

“As am I,” agreed the rest of the teachers. Even Binns who was reluctant, but couldn’t ignore that the evidence was in favor of a gigantic snake. Lockhart was the only one who didn’t speak as he had been glaring at John for a while now. Lockhart didn’t even notice as Professor McGonagall turned to look at him.

“We’ll leave it to you, then, Gilderoy,” said Professor McGonagall. “Tonight will be an excellent time to do it. We’ll make sure everyone’s out of your way. You’ll be able to tackle the monster all by yourself. A free rein at last.”

Lockhart was shocked out of his anger when he heard that and gazed desperately around him, but nobody came to the rescue. He didn’t look remotely handsome anymore. His lip was trembling, and in the absence of his usually toothy grin, he looked weak-chinned and feeble.

“V-very well,” he said. “I’ll - I’ll be in my office, getting - getting ready.”

And he left the room.

“Right,” said Professor McGonagall, whose nostrils were flared, “that’s got _him_ out from under our feet. The Heads of Houses should go and inform their students what has happened. Tell them the Hogwarts Express will take them home first thing tomorrow. Will the rest of you please make sure no students have been left outside their dormitories.”

“You didn’t actually offer-” began John.

“Of course not,” Minerva said, “he’s as useless as a doorknob on a wall. Dumb as one as well.”

“So what’s your plan in taking out the Basilisk?” John asked.

“Send in the ministry of course,” Minerva said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“They have never been able to find the Chamber,” John said with a raised eyebrow, “so what makes you think they’ll do it this time much less be victorious over a Basilisk?”

“What else can we do?” Minerva asked weakly.

“I’ll-” began John.

“Absolutely not!” Minerva said sternly, “You are just a student! You may be one of the most capable students I’ve ever seen in my life, but not even you will survive a Basilisk! Especially since you still don’t have a working wand!”

“But-” began John.

“No,” Minerva said sternly, “My word is final. Go back to your common room and join your students. In fact, Flitwick will escort you there as he’s going as well.”

The teachers rose and left, one by one. Even John sulkily left alongside Flitwick. John glanced at where Harry and Ron hid for a second and for a second Harry thought he saw John’s eye become lizard-like.

It was probably the worst day of Harry’s entire life. He, Ron, Fred, and George sat together in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, unable to say anything to each other. Percy wasn’t there. He had gone to send an owl to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, then shut himself up in his dormitory.

No afternoon ever lasted as long as that one, nor had Gryffindor Tower ever been so crowded, yet so quiet. Near sunset, Fred and George went up to bed, unable to sit there any longer.

“She knew something, Harry,” said Ron, speaking for the first time since they had entered the wardrobe in the staff room. “That’s why she was taken. It wasn’t some stupid thing about Percy at all. She’d found out something about the Chamber of Secrets. That must be why she was -” Ron rubbed his eyes frantically. “I mean, she was a pure-blood. There can’t be any other reason.”

“Don’t worry,” Prue said as she sat next to him, “I’m sure she’ll be rescued soon enough.”

Harry could see the sun sinking, blood-red, below the skyline. This was the worst he had ever felt. If only there was something they could do. Anything.

“Harry” said Ron. “D’you think there’s any chance at all she’s not - you know-”

Harry didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t see how Ginny could still be alive.

“D’you know what?” said Ron. “I think we should go and see Lockhart. Tell him what we know. He’s going to try and get into the Chamber. We can tell him where we think it is.”

Because Harry couldn’t think of anything else to do, and because he wanted to be doing something, he agreed. The Gryffindors around them were so miserable, and felt so sorry for the Weasleys, that nobody tried to stop them as they got up, crossed the room, and left through the portrait hole. Prue also went with them, because she knows the pain of losing a loved one. Also, she wasn’t the type to just stand by and do nothing… not when she can do something about it.

Darkness was falling as they walked down to Lockhart’s office. There seemed to be a lot of activity going on inside it. They could hear scraping, thumps, and hurried footsteps.

Harry knocked and there was a sudden silence from inside. Then the door opened the tiniest crack and they saw one of Lockhart’s eyes peering through it.

“Oh - Mr. Potter - Mr. Weasley-” he said, opening the door a bit wider. “I’m rather busy at the moment -if you would be quick-”

“Professor, we’ve got some information for you,” said Harry. “We think it’ll help you.”

“Er - well - it’s not terribly-” The side of Lockhart’s face that they could see looked very uncomfortable. “I mean - well - all right-”

He opened the door and they entered.

His office had been almost completely stripped. Two large trunks stood open on the floor. Robes, jade-green, lilac, midnight blue, had been hastily folded into one of them; books were jumbled untidily into the other. The photographs that had covered the walls were now crammed into boxes on the desk.

“Are you going somewhere?” said Harry.

“He’s leaving,” Prue realized with anger in her eyes. Lockhart flinched when he saw that.

“What about my sister?” said Ron jerkily.

“Well, as to that - most unfortunate -” said Lockhart, avoiding their eyes as he wrenched open a drawer and started emptying the contents into a bag. “No one regrets more than I-”

Suddenly, he went flying through the air and landed on top of a table. Harry and Ron looked to see Prue glaring at Lockhart angrily.

“How-” began Lockhart.

“My family is a special kind of witch family,” Prue said angrily, “we can use magic if we want to without needing wands. I have telekinesis. My sisters have powers of their own, but right now… mine is all you need to worry about.”

Lockhart chuckled nervously.

“You’re the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!” said Harry. “You can’t go now! Not with all the Dark stuff going on here!”

“Well - I must say - when I took the job-” Lockhart muttered as he got up off the table, “nothing in the job description - didn’t expect-”

“You mean you’re _running away_?” said Harry disbelievingly. “After all that stuff you did in your books —”

“Books can be misleading,” said Lockhart delicately.

“You wrote them!” Harry shouted.

“My dear boy,” said Lockhart, straightening up and frowning at Harry. “Do use your common sense. My books wouldn’t have sold half as well if people didn’t think _I’d_ done all those things. No one wants to read about some ugly old Armenian warlock, even if he did save a village from werewolves. He’d look dreadful on the front cover. No dress sense at all. And the witch who banished the Bandon Banshee had a harelip. I mean, come on-”

“So you’ve just been taking credit for what a load of other people have done?” said Harry incredulously.

“Harry, Harry,” said Lockhart, shaking his head impatiently, “it’s not nearly as simple as that. There was work involved. I had to track these people down. Ask them exactly how they managed to do what they did. Then I had to put a Memory Charm on them so they wouldn’t remember doing it. If there’s one thing I pride myself on, it’s my Memory Charms. No, it’s been a lot of work, Harry. It’s not all book signings and publicity photos, you know. You want fame, you have to be prepared for a long hard slog.”

He then turned around and placed socks on his robes before he banged the lids of his trunks shut and locked them.

“Let’s see,” he said. “I think that’s everything. Yes. Only one thing left.”

He pulled out his wand and turned to them.

“Awfully sorry, boys, but I’ll have to put a Memory Charm on you now. Can’t have you blabbing my secrets all over the place. I’d never sell another book-”

Suddenly, he stopped talking and looked to have frozen. Harry, Ron, and Prue looked behind them to see Piper standing with John and Phoebe.

“Piper!” exclaimed Prue, “What are you doing out of your dormitory?”

“I could ask you the same, ya know,” Piper replied with a raised eyebrow, “besides, it’s a good thing I did show up otherwise you, Harry, and Ron wouldn’t know a grape from a rock.”

“How did you-” began Harry.

“Phoebe saw it in one of her premonitions,” Piper explained, “and John got her to me with floo powder. The rest can be assumed.”

“Ah,” Prue said before she quickly remembered something, “Oh… Piper’s time freezing power has a limited time.”

“In that case,” john said as he walked over and pulled the wand from Lockhart’s hands, “I’ll take that.”

He stood there for a second and then grinned evilly. He raised his leg and then kicked Lockhart hard right in the family jewels. He returned to the others with a smug expression.

“Isn’t that a bit…” Phoebe trailed off.

“He deserved it,” Prue said even though she didn’t like how willing John was to do that.

As soon as John turned to stare at Lockhart again, time resumed for the fraud.

“Gah!” Lockhart cried out as he grabbed his crotch and fell to the ground.

“You shouldn’t have tried to erase our memories,” Harry said angrily as he pointed his wand at Lockhart.

“What d’you want me to do?” said Lockhart weakly. “I don’t know where the Chamber of Secrets is. There’s nothing I can do.”

“You’re in luck,” said Harry, forcing Lockhart to his feet at wand point. “We think _we_ know where it is. _And_ what’s inside it. Let’s go.”

They marched Lockhart out of his office and down the nearest stairs, along the dark corridor where the messages shone on the wall, to the door of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

They sent Lockhart in first. Harry was pleased to see that he was shaking.

Moaning Myrtle was sitting on the tank of the end toilet.

“Oh, it’s you two,” she said when she saw Harry and John. “What do you want this time?”

Harry was about to speak, but John stopped him.

“I think it’s best if I ask the question, mate,” john said, “she already doesn’t like me much.”

“To ask you how you died,” said John when he turned towards her.

Myrtle’s whole aspect changed at once. Instead of pissed, as they expected, she looked as though she had never been asked such a flattering question.

“Ooooh, it was dreadful,” she said with relish. “It happened right in here. I died in this very stall. I remember it so well. I’d hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny. A different language, I think it must have been. Anyway, what really got me was that it was a boy speaking. So I unlocked the door, to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then-” Myrtle swelled importantly, her face shining. “I _died_.”

 _Never thought I’d see a ghost be proud of how they died,_ John thought with an mentally raised eyebrow.

“How?” asked Harry.

“No idea,” said Myrtle in hushed tones. “I just remember seeing a pair of great, big, yellow eyes. My whole body sort of seized up, and then I was floating away…”

She looked dreamily at Harry as she continued, “And then I came back again. I was determined to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry she’d ever laughed at my glasses.”

“Where exactly did you see the eyes?” asked Harry.

“Somewhere there,” said Myrtle, pointing vaguely toward the sink in front of her toilet.

All of them hurried over to it. Lockhart was standing well back, a look of utter terror on his face.

It looked like an ordinary sink. They examined every inch of it, inside and out, including the pipes below. And then Harry saw it: Scratched on the side of one of the copper taps was a tiny snake.

“That tap’s never worked,” said Myrtle brightly as he tried to turn it.

“Harry,” said Ron. “Say something. Something in Parseltongue.”

“But-” Harry thought hard. The only times he’d ever managed to speak Parseltongue were when he’d been faced with a real snake. He stared hard at the tiny engraving, trying to imagine it was real.

“Open up,” he said.

He looked at Ron, who shook his head.

“English,” he said.

“Allow me,” John said as he stepped forward.

“I doubt you speak snake,” Ron said skeptically.

“No…” John said as he closed his eyes and searched for what he knew was there but had never noticed before.

When he opened his eyes, they were glowing bright red and in the shape of diamonds. Just like a lizard’s. When he looked towards them they widened their eyes and stepped back voluntarily.

“What?” John asked.

“Your eyes…” Ron said his face pale.

John looked towards the sink and into the mirror above it and widened his eyes. Then he smirked.

“No wonder I’ve always wanted a dragon,” John said mostly to himself.

He then stared at the faucet and for a second he thought the snake on it had moved.

“Open up,” he said.

Except that the words weren’t what he heard; a strange hissing had escaped him, and at once the tap glowed with a brilliant white light and began to spin. Next second, the sink began to move; the sink, in fact, sank, right out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed, a pipe wide enough for a man to slide into.

John heard them gasp and looked up again. When he did so, his eyes were back to normal much to their relief. However, the fact his eyes could glow and become lizard-esque was too firmly etched into their memories.

“What?” John asked again that night.

“Are you actually-” began Harry.

“No,” John said as he turned towards the pipe, “According to Dumbledore, I’m the last Heir of Godric Gryffindor.”

“But you’re a ravenclaw,” Phoebe said confused.

“I know,” John snorted, “quite ironic. The Heir of Gryffindor not being a Gryffindor.”

Harry being the first one to recover from the new information had made up his mind what he was going to do.

“I’m going down there,” he said.

He couldn’t not go, not now they had found the entrance to the Chamber, not if there was even the faintest, slimmest, wildest chance that Ginny might be alive.

“Me too,” said Ron.

Phoebe immediately paled as her premonition from earlier flashed through her mind.

“John,” Phoebe said quietly. John frowned but followed her out of earshot from the others.

“What is it?” John asked.

“You can’t let Harry go down there,” Phoebe said with a worried tone.

“Why not?” John asked confused.

“I saw it,” Phoebe said, “I saw his and Ginny’s death earlier in the year. I think this is where the path to his death can be diverted… if you take his place.”

“You’re asking me to die?” John asked with a frown.

“No,” Phoebe said shaking her head, “I think you’re the only one of us that might be immune to the Basilisk.”

John looked at her for a second, and then walked towards where Harry was.

**A few seconds earlier, back at the pipe…**

Neither Harry nor Ron jumped down into the pipe because they were honestly a bit afraid to do so. They were shocked to action when Lockhart spoke, however.

“Well, you hardly seem to need me,” said Lockhart, with a shadow of his old smile. “I’ll just-”

He put his hand on the door knob, but Ron and Harry both pointed their wands at him.

“You can go first,” Ron snarled.

White-faced and wandless, Lockhart approached the opening.

“Boys,” he said, his voice feeble. “Boys, what good will it do?”

Harry jabbed him in the back with his wand. Lockhart slid his legs into the pipe.

“I really don’t think —” he started to say, but Ron gave him a push, and he slid out of sight.

Harry was about to follow, but suddenly he was grabbed in a headlock.

“John!” Ron yelled as he aimed his wand at the exorcist, “What are you doing?!”

“Keeping a promise,” John said as he suffocated Harry to unconsciousness.

“What promise?” Ron asked.

“Keeping Potter alive,” John replied as he stood up.

“Now,” John said as he walked towards the opening, “if you want to save your sister… stop pointing your useless wand at me and follow.”

“We’ll stay behind,” Prue said as she knelt next to Harry and positioned him in a comfortable position.

“It’s really quite filthy down here,” echoed the voice of Lockhart from below.

John didn’t even regard them with a response as he sat down at the edge and allowed himself to fall.

It was like rushing down an endless, slimy, dark slide. He could see more pipes branching off in all directions, but none as large as theirs, which twisted and turned, sloping steeply downward, and he knew that he was falling deeper below the school than even the dungeons. Behind him he could hear Ron, thudding slightly at the curves.

And then, just as he had begun to worry about what would happen when he hit the ground, the pipe leveled out, and he shot out of the end with a wet thud, landing on the damp floor of a dark stone tunnel large enough to stand in. Lockhart was getting to his feet a little ways away, covered in slime and white as a ghost. John stood aside as Ron came whizzing out of the pipe, too.

“We must be miles under the school,” said John, his voice echoing in the black tunnel.

“Under the lake, probably,” said Ron, squinting around at the dark, slimy walls.

All three of them turned to stare into the darkness ahead.

“ _Lumos!_ ” John muttered to Lockhart’s wand and it lit again. “C’mon,” he said to Ron and Lockhart, and off they went, their footsteps slapping loudly on the wet floor.

The tunnel was so dark that they could only see a little distance ahead. Their shadows on the wet walls looked monstrous in the wandlight.

“Remember,” John said quietly as they walked cautiously forward, “any sign of movement, close your eyes right away…”

But the tunnel was quiet as the grave, and the first unexpected sound they heard was a loud crunch as Ron stepped on what turned out to be a rat’s skull. John lowered the wand to look at the floor and saw that it was littered with small animal bones. Trying very hard not to imagine what Ginny might look like if they found her, Ron looked imploringly at John who led the way forward, around a dark bend in the tunnel.

“John - there’s something up there-” said Ron hoarsely, grabbing John’s shoulder.

They froze, watching. John could just see the outline of something huge and curved, lying right across the tunnel. It wasn’t moving.

“Maybe it’s asleep,” he breathed, glancing back at the other two. Lockhart’s hands were pressed over his eyes. John turned back to look at the thing, his heart beating so fast it hurt.

Very slowly, his eyes as narrow as he could make them and still see, John edged forward, his wand held high.

The light slid over a gigantic snake skin, of a vivid, poisonous green, lying curled and empty across the tunnel floor. The creature that had shed it must have been twenty feet long at least.

“Blimey,” said Ron weakly.

There was a sudden movement behind them. Gilderoy Lockhart’s knees had given way.

“Get up,” said Ron sharply, pointing his wand at Lockhart.

“Ron, get away from him!” John yelled when he saw the look in Lockhart’s eyes.

Unfortunately, Ron was too slow as Lockhart snatched the w

and out of Ron’s hands and aimed it at the both of them.

John took stepped forward with his stolen wand aimed at Lockhart, but too late - Lockhart was straightening up, panting, Ron’s wand in his hand and a gleaming smile back on his face.

“The adventure ends here, boys!” he said. “I shall take a bit of this skin back up to the school, tell them I was too late to save the girl, and that you two tragically lost your minds at the sight of her mangled body - say good-bye to your memories!”

He raised Ron’s Spell-o-taped wand high over his head and yelled, “ _Obliviate_!”

The wand exploded with the force of a small bomb. John flung his arms over his head and ran, slipping over the coils of snake skin, out of the way of great chunks of tunnel ceiling that were thundering to the floor. Next moment, he was standing alone, gazing at a solid wall of broken rock.

“Ron!” he shouted. “You still breathing? Ron!”

“I’m here!” came Ron’s muffled voice from behind the rockfall. “I’m okay - this git’s not, though - he got blasted by the wand-”

There was a dull thud and a loud “ow!” It sounded as though Ron had just kicked Lockhart in the shins.

“What now?” Ron’s voice said, sounding desperate. “We can’t get through - it’ll take ages…”

John looked up at the tunnel ceiling. Huge cracks had appeared in it. He had never tried to break apart anything as large as these rocks by magic, and now didn’t seem a good moment to try - what if the whole tunnel caved in?

There was another thud and another “ow!” from behind the rocks. They were wasting time. Ginny had already been in the Chamber of Secrets for hours… John knew there was only one thing to do.

“Wait there,” he called to Ron. “Wait with Lockhart. I’ll go on… If I’m not back in an hour…”

There was a very pregnant pause, “I’ll try and shift some of this rock,” said Ron, who seemed to be trying to keep his voice steady. “So you can - can get back through. And, John-”

“What?” John asked.

“Just so you know,” Ron said apologetically, “I don’t think you’re a monster. Even though there are aspects of you that unnerve me because of how abnormal they are.”

“Bloody hell,” John muttered to himself.

“No chick flick moments,” John said to Ron.

“Right,” Ron replied followed by another “ow” on the other side of the rock wall.

“See you in a bit,” said John, trying to inject some confidence into his voice.

And he set off alone past the giant snake skin.

Soon the distant noise of Ron straining to shift the rocks was gone. The tunnel turned and turned again. Every nerve in John’s body was tingling unpleasantly. He wanted the tunnel to end, yet dreaded what he’d find when it did. And then, at last, as he crept around yet another bend, he saw a solid wall ahead on which two entwined serpents were carved, their eyes set with great, glinting emeralds.

John approached, his throat very dry. There was no need to pretend these stone snakes were real; their eyes looked strangely alive.

He could guess what he had to do. He cleared his throat, and the emerald eyes seemed to flicker. His eyes once again became diamond shaped glowed red.

Open,” said John, in a low, faint hiss.

The serpents parted as the wall cracked open, the halves slid smoothly out of sight, and John, walked inside as his eyes returned to normal.


	15. The Two Heirs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John encounters Tom Riddle and finds out who he is. John has a flashback. John defeats the Basilisk and Riddle.

Chapter 15: The Two Heirs

He was standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place. His heart beating very fast, John stood listening to the chill silence. Could the basilisk be lurking in a shadowy corner, behind a pillar? And where was Ginny?

He pulled out his wand and moved forward between the serpentine columns. Every careful footstep echoed loudly off the shadowy walls. He kept his eyes narrowed, ready to clamp them shut at the smallest sign of movement. The hollow eye sockets of the stone snakes seemed to be following him. More than once, with a jolt of the stomach, he thought he saw one stir.

Then, as he drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall.

John had to crane his neck to look up into the giant face above: It was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard’s sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. And between the feet, facedown, lay a small, black-robed figure with flaming-red hair.

“Ginny,” John muttered, sprinting to her and dropping to his knees, “Ginny - don’t be dead - please don’t be dead -”

He flung his wand aside, grabbed Ginny’s shoulders, and turned her over. Her face was white as marble, and as cold, yet her eyes were closed, so she wasn’t Petrified. But then she must be…

“Ginny, wake up ya ginger,” John muttered desperately, shaking her. Ginny’s head lolled hopelessly from side to side.

“She won’t wake,” said a soft voice.

John jumped and spun around on his knees.

A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though John were looking at him through a misted window. But there was no mistaking him.

“Tom - Tom Riddle?”

Riddle nodded, not taking his eyes off John’s face.

“What d’you mean, she won’t bloody wake?!” John demanded angrily.

“She’s close to death,” Riddle replied bluntly.

John stared at him. Tom Riddle had been at Hogwarts fifty years ago, yet here he stood, a weird, misty light shining about him, not a day older than sixteen.

“The diary…” John realized, “You walked out of the diary.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Riddle nodded.

“Where is it?” John asked.

Riddle pointed toward the floor near the statue’s giant toes. Lying open there was the little black diary Potter had found in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. For a second, John wondered how it had got there… but there were more pressing matters to deal with.

“You did this to Ginny, didn’t you?” John asked as he stood up.

“Technically,” Riddle admitted, “but in reality, she did it to herself.”

“What do you mean?” John asked with narrowed. He glanced around for Lockhart’s wand, but it was no longer on the ground. He then saw it in Riddle’s hands being twirled around.

“It’s quite a long story.” Riddle replied, “I suppose the real reason Ginny Weasley’s like this is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger.”

“The diary,” John realized again, “She wrote in it.”

“My diary,” Riddle explained, “Little Ginny’s been writing in it for months and months, telling me all her pitiful worries and woes - how her brothers tease her, how she had to come to school with secondhand robes and books, how-”

Riddle’s eyes glinted

“How she didn’t think famous, good, great Harry Potter would ever like her…” Riddle finished.

All the time he spoke, Riddle’s eyes never left John’s face. There was an almost hungry look in them.

“It’s very boring, having to listen to the silly little troubles of an eleven-year-old girl,” he went on, “But I was patient. I wrote back. I was sympathetic, I was kind. Ginny simply loved me. No one’s ever understood me like you, Tom… I’m so glad I’ve got this diary to confide in… It’s like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket…”

Riddle laughed, a high, cold laugh that didn’t suit him. It made the hairs stand up on the back of John’s neck.

 _I’ve heard that laugh before,_ thought John, _Where did I hear it? More accurately, when?_

“If I say it myself, John, I’ve always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted… I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful, far more powerful than little Miss Weasley. Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of my secrets, to start pouring a little of my soul back into her…”

“What do you mean?” John asked hoping he was wrong.

“Haven’t you guessed yet, John Constantine?” said Riddle softly. “Ginny Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets. She strangled the school roosters and daubed threatening messages on the walls. She set the Serpent of Slytherin on four Mudbloods, and the Squib’s cat.”

“It wasn’t her,” John said coldly, “It was you. You possessed her. You did all that.”

“In a way, yes,” Riddle said evilly, “but she knew what she was doing and she could’ve stopped me if she wanted to. But, she didn’t. She let it happen.”

“Though,” Riddle said as if he remembered something, “she didn’t know what she was doing at first. It was very amusing. I wish you could have seen her new diary entries… far more interesting, they became… Dear Tom,” he recited, watching John’s enraged face, “‘I think I’m losing my memory. There are rooster feathers all over my robes and I don’t know how they got there. Dear Tom, I can’t remember what I did on the night of Halloween, but a cat was attacked and I’ve got paint all down my front. Dear Tom, Percy keeps telling me I’m pale and I’m not myself. I think he suspects me… There was another attack today and I don’t know where I was. Tom, what am I going to do? I think I’m going mad... I think I’m the one attacking everyone, Tom!’”

John clenched his fists very hard. So hard his fists grew pale.

“It took a very long time for stupid little Ginny to stop trusting her diary,” said Riddle. “But she finally became suspicious and tried to dispose of it. And that’s where your associate came in, John. He or she found it, and then handed it to you. I would’ve been more delighted. Of all the people who could have been given it, it was you. However, you’re not the person I am most anxious to meet…”

“Who is it you wanted to meet?” John asked. Anger was coursing through him, and it was an effort to keep his voice steady.

“Well, you see, Ginny told me all about Harry Potter,” said Riddle. “Your whole fascinating history. I knew I must find out more about him, talk to him, meet him if I could. Unfortunately, I got you. However, I was intrigued enough by you when we chatted. So I decided to show you my famous capture of that great oaf, Hagrid, to gain your trust-”

“Right,” John snorted, “As if I’d ever trust a sentient book. Also, you framed Hagrid. Didn’t you?”

Riddle laughed his high laugh again.

“It was my word against Hagrid’s, John. Well, you can imagine how it looked to old Armando Dippet. On the one hand, Tom Riddle, poor but brilliant, parentless but so brave, school prefect, model student… on the other hand, big, blundering Hagrid, in trouble every other week, trying to raise werewolf cubs under his bed, sneaking off to the Forbidden Forest to wrestle trolls… but I admit, even I was surprised how well the plan worked. I thought someone must realize that Hagrid couldn’t possibly be the Heir of Slytherin. It had taken me five whole years to find out everything I could about the Chamber of Secrets and discover the secret entrance… as though Hagrid had the brains, or the power!”

“Only the Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore, seemed to think Hagrid was innocent. He persuaded Dippet to keep Hagrid and train him as gamekeeper. Yes, I think Dumbledore might have guessed… Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did…”

“I bet Dumbledore saw right through you,” John sneered.

“He certainly kept an annoyingly close watch,” Riddle practically spat, “I knew it wouldn’t be safe to open the Chamber again while I was still at school. But I wasn’t going to waste those long years I’d spent searching for it. I decided to leave behind a diary, preserving my sixteen-year-old self in its pages, so that one day, with luck, I would be able to lead another in my footsteps, and finish Salazar Slytherin’s noble work.”

“Well, you haven’t finished it,” said John triumphantly. “No one’s died this time, not even the cat. In a few hours the Mandrake Draught will be ready and everyone who was Petrified will be alright again-”

“Haven’t I already told you,” said Riddle quietly, “that killing Mudbloods doesn’t matter to me anymore? For many months now, my new target has been Harry Potter.”

John smirked victoriously, because there was no way Riddle was going to get what he desired.

“Imagine how angry I was when the next time my diary was opened, it was Ginny who was writing to me, not you. She saw Harry with the diary, you see, and panicked. What if he found out how to work it, and I repeated all her secrets to him? What if, even worse, I told him who’d been strangling roosters? So the foolish little brat waited until his dormitory was deserted and stole it back. But I knew what I must do. It was clear to me that you and Harry Potter both were on the trail of Slytherin’s heir. From everything Ginny had told me about you, I knew you would go to any lengths to solve the mystery - particularly if one of your best friends was attacked. And Ginny had told me the whole school was buzzing because Harry could speak Parseltongue…

“You had attacked Ritchie to get me down here as well?!” John snarled.

“Oh yes,” Riddle sneered, “I also had the Granger bitch attacked to, so that…”

Riddle suddenly looked around when he realized something. Harry wasn’t here.

“Where is Harry Potter?!” demanded Riddle, “He should’ve come down with you!!!”

“I rendered him unconscious,” John sneered, “I had sworn to keep him alive after all. Once a friend of mine had a premonition of his death…”

“Damn it!” Riddle shouted, “Now I can’t get answers.”

“What questions?” John asked not really caring.

“Well,” said Riddle, glaring, “how is it that Harry Potter - a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent - managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did he escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort’s powers were destroyed?”

“Why should you care?” John asked uncaringly.

“Voldemort,” said Riddle softly, “is my past, present, and future, John Constantine…”

He pulled Lockhart’s wand from his pocket and began to trace it through the air, writing three shimmering words.

_TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE_

Then he waved the wand once, and the letters of his name rearranged themselves:

_I AM LORD VOLDEMORT_

“You see?” he whispered. “It was a name I was already using at Hogwarts, to my most intimate friends only, of course. You think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father’s name forever? I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, through my mother’s side? I, keep the name of a foul, common Muggle, who abandoned me even before I was born, just because he found out his wife was a witch? No, John - I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!”

John stared with complete rage as he flashed back to the day of his birth. He saw an older Tom Riddle standing over his mother with a bone-like wand aimed at her. His father was unconscious on the ground and bleeding. Riddle laughed coldly but it was stopped short when he heard a scream. Riddle turned to see his sister standing there with a look of horror on her face. She raised her wand, but Riddle suddenly cast a memory charm on her making her forget the scene. Riddle then stared at the dead form of John’s mother and set her ablaze. He strode towards John’s sister and disapparated when he grabbed her shoulder.

As soon as John returned to the present, he glared with murderous intent at teen Riddle.

“You’re not,” John said, his quiet voice full of hatred.

“Not what?” snapped Riddle.

“Not the greatest sorcerer in the world,” said John, breathing fast. “Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were strong, you didn’t dare try and take over at Hogwarts. Dumbledore saw through you when you were at school and he still frightens you now, wherever you’re hiding these days-”

The smile had gone from Riddle’s face, to be replaced by a very ugly look.

“Dumbledore’s been driven out of this castle by the mere memory of me!” he hissed.

“He’s not as gone as you might think!” John retorted. He was speaking at random, wanting to scare Riddle, wishing rather than believing it to be true.

Riddle opened his mouth, but froze.

Out of the water rose a sword inside of a hand. It was Godric Gryffindor’s sword.

“You’re not a Gryffindor!” Riddle exclaimed, “How is the sword coming to you?!?!”

The hand then threw the sword out of the water and both John and Riddle watched as the sword flew through the air. It flipped end over end till it hit the ground blade first. Strangely enough, the blade pierced the stone without causing sparks. In fact, it was like poking meet with a fork.

“Enough of this!” Riddle yelled as he shook his head, “Tonight you die, and then Potter!”

“Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four.” said Riddle in parseltongue. Just like before, John understood the language.

John wheeled around to look up at the statue.

Slytherin’s gigantic stone face was moving. Horrorstruck, John saw his mouth opening, wider and wider, to make a huge black hole.

And something was stirring inside the statue’s mouth. Something was slithering up from its depths.

John backed away until he hit the dark Chamber wall, and as he shut his eyes tight he heard the sound of the Basilisk slithering out of the statue.

Something huge hit the stone floor of the Chamber. John felt it shudder - he knew what was happening, he could sense it, could almost see the giant serpent uncoiling itself from Slytherin’s mouth. Then he heard Riddle’s hissing voice:

“Kill him.”

The basilisk was moving toward John; he could hear its heavy body slithering heavily across the dusty floor. Eyes still tightly shut, John began to run blindly sideways, his hands outstretched, feeling his way - Voldemort was laughing.

John tripped. He fell hard onto the stone and tasted blood the serpent was barely feet from him, he could hear it coming.

There was a loud, explosive spitting sound right above him, and then something heavy hit John so hard that he was smashed into the wall. Waiting for fangs to sink through his body he heard more mad hissing, something thrashing wildly off the pillars.

He couldn’t help it - he opened his eyes wide enough to squint at what was going on.

The enormous serpent, bright, poisonous green, thick as an oak trunk, had raised itself high in the air and its great blunt head was weaving drunkenly between the pillars. He also saw what looked like blood dripping onto the ground. He saw where the blood was dripping from and saw a stream of blood coming out of one eye. Where it’s eye had been was a some stone shrapnel.

The Basilisk moved its head about and turned to stare at John with its remaining left eye. John quickly looked away and scrambled to his feet.

He ran as fast as he could, but he ended up tripping again. He looked to see what had tripped him and saw that he had tripped on a very sharp rock. It was as long as a short spear. As girthy as one too.

He saw the Basilisk coming towards him by using the wet stone as a mirror. Fortunately, he only saw the blind side of the snake. John picked up the spear-like stone and prepared to move. The Basilisk struck, and John spun to the blind side. He grabbed the snake by one of its scales and was hoisted off the ground as the Basilisk moved its head up. He hung on for dear life as the Basilisk shook its head. He managed to climb his way to on top of the snake, and when he got to where he judged the remaining eye to be. He stabbed into the eye causing the snake to shriek in pain. The snake shook even more so, and this time John was sent flying. He hit the ground hard and felt something snap in his left leg.

“Smart,” Riddle said smugly, “taking out its eyes, but even so… it can smell you. You’ll never survive.”

“Shut the feck up,” John said irked as he got to his feet. They looked back at the snake and saw that it was thrashing around in order to get the stone spear out of its eye.

“HE BOY IS BEHIND YOU!” Riddle yelled in parseltongue, “YOU CAN STILL SMELL HIM IDIOT! KILL HIM!”

John limped over to Gryffindor’s sword, and grabbed it with his right hand. He suddenly felt something that he had never felt before.

The sword’s blade suddenly glowed red, as John’s body combusted into flames without destroying his clothes. Suddenly, John cried out in pain. As he screamed, he felt two things grow out of his back and rip the back of his button down shirt and raincoat in the process. Horns protruded out of his elbow and shoulders. Ridges formed from the base to the top of his back all the way down his spine. A tail grew out of his tailbone, and it had ridges that continued from the bottom of his back. John’s hair fell out and was replaced by dragon-esque scales, and horns, John suddenly collapsed as his feet began making snapping sounds as they reconfigured to be more like an actual dragon’s pair of legs. A better example would be wolf-like. John finally stopped screaming as the flames that had combusted on him moved towards his wing-bones to make up the wings themselves. In John’s place was a dragon-man with red scales, and torn clothes. When John opened his eyes, they were glowing bright red and diamond shaped again.

“No way…” John heard Riddle say, “It’s impossible! The last Heir of Gryffindor died centuries ago!”

“After I kill the snake,” John said in a guttural tone, “you’re next.”

John turned to look at the Basilisk and noticed it was slithering towards him. He could see the vast, bloody eye sockets, see the mouth stretching wide, wide enough to swallow him whole, lined with fangs long as his sword, thin, glittering, venomous-

It lunged blindly, but John flapped his wings once and flew into the air. He flew around till he was right above the snake, and then dropped. He pointed Gryffindor’s sword downward as he fell, but the Snake smelled him and lunged up. John widened his dragon-esque eyes and managed to flap out of the path just in time.

“Flying isn't going to cut it,” John muttered to himself. Landed on the ground and whistled to attract the snake’s attention. It slithered at him again, but unlike before John stood his ground. With the sword in hand, he got ready.

The basilisk lunged again, and this time John threw his whole weight behind the sword and drove it to the hilt into the roof of the serpent’s mouth-

But as warm blood drenched John’s arms, he felt a searing pain just above his elbow. One long, poisonous fang was sinking deeper and deeper into his arm and it splintered as the basilisk keeled over sideways and fell, twitching, to the floor.

John gripped the fang that was spreading poison through his body and wrenched it out of his arm. But he knew it was too late. White-hot pain was spreading slowly and steadily from the wound. Even as he dropped the fang and watched his own blood soaking his robes, his vision went foggy. The Chamber was dissolving in a whirl of dull color. John slowly limped towards the diary, but before he made it too steps he collapsed to the ground as he transformed back to normal. For some reason, the transformation didn’t bring him more pain. Maybe it’s because his body had become fully accustomed to the dragon morphing ability he was born with.

As John lay dying, he heard a sound he never thought he’d hear in a cave. Even Riddle was shocked out of his anger for his pets death and glee for John’s soon to be death.

Music was coming from somewhere. Riddle whirled around to stare down the empty Chamber. The music was growing louder. It was eerie, spine-tingling, unearthly; it lifted the hair on John’s scalp and made his heart feel as though it was swelling to twice its normal size. Then, as the music reached such a pitch that John felt it vibrating inside his own ribs, flames erupted at the top of the nearest pillar.

A crimson bird the size of a swan had appeared, piping its weird music to the vaulted ceiling. It had a glittering golden tail as long as a peacock’s and gleaming golden talons.

A second later, the bird was flying straight at John. It landed on the ground next to John’s shoulder and stared at him.

“That’s a phoenix.” said Riddle, staring shrewdly back at it.

He felt the bird lay its beautiful head on the spot where the serpent’s fang had pierced him.

He could hear echoing footsteps and then a dark shadow moved in front of him.

“You’re dead, John Constantine,” said Riddle’s voice above him. “Dead. Even Dumbledore’s bird knows it. Do you see what he’s doing, Constantine? He’s crying.”

blinked. Fawke’s head slid in and out of focus. Thick, pearly tears were trickling down the glossy feathers.

“I’m going to sit here and watch you die, John Constantine. Take your time. I’m in no hurry.”

John felt drowsy. Everything around him seemed to be spinning.

“So ends the youngest exorcist in a century,” said Riddle’s distant voice. “Alone in the Chamber of Secrets, forsaken by his friends, defeated at last by the Dark Lord he so unwisely challenged. You’ll be back with your dear blood traitor mother soon, John.”

If this is dying, thought John, it’s not so bad.

Even the pain was leaving him…

But was this dying? Instead of going black, the Chamber seemed to be coming back into focus. John gave his head a little shake and there was Fawkes, still resting his head on John’s arm. A pearly patch of tears was shining all around the wound - except that there was no wound.

“Get away, bird,” said Riddle’s voice suddenly. “Get away from him - I said, get away-”

Harry raised his head. Riddle was pointing Harry’s wand at Fawkes; there was a bang like a gun, and Fawkes took flight again in a whirl of gold and scarlet.

“Phoenix tears…” said Riddle quietly, staring at Harry’s arm. “Of course… healing powers… I forgot…”

He looked into Harry’s face. “But it makes no difference. In fact, I prefer it this way. Just you and me, John Constantine...you and me…”

He raised the wand…

Then, in a rush of wings, Fawkes had soared back overhead and something fell into John’s lap - the diary.

For a split second, both John and Riddle, wand still raised, stared at it. Then, without thinking, without considering, as though he had meant to do it all along, John seized the basilisk fang on the floor next to him and plunged it straight into the heart of the book.

There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink spurted out of the diary in torrents, streaming over John’s hands, flooding the floor. Riddle was writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing and then-

He had gone. Lockhart’s wand fell to the floor with a clatter and there was silence. Silence except for the steady drip drip of ink still oozing from the diary. The basilisk venom had burned a sizzling hole right through it.

Shaking all over, John pulled himself up. His head was spinning as though he’d just traveled miles by Floo powder. Slowly, he gathered together Lockhart’s wand and with a huge tug, retrieved the glittering sword from the roof of the basilisk’s mouth.

Then came a faint moan from the end of the Chamber. Ginny was stirring. As John limped toward her, she sat up. Her bemused eyes traveled from the huge form of the dead basilisk, over John, in his blood-soaked and torn robes, then to the diary in his hand. She drew a great, shuddering gasp and tears began to pour down her face.

“John - oh, John - I tried to tell Harry at b-breakfast, but I c-couldn’t say it in front of Percy - it was me, John - but I - I s-swear I d-didn’t mean to - R-Riddle made me, he t-took me over - and - how did you kill that - that thing? W-where’s Riddle? The last thing I r-remember is him coming out of the diary-”

“It’s all right,” said John with a the kindest tone he had ever used and it was genuine He held up the diary, and showed Ginny the fang hole, “Riddle’s finished. Look! Him and the basilisk. C’mon, Ginny, let’s get out of here-”

“I’m going to be expelled!” Ginny wept as John helped her awkwardly to her feet. “I’ve looked forward to coming to Hogwarts ever since B-Bill came and n-now I’ll have to leave and - w-what’ll Mum and Dad say?”

Fawkes was waiting for them, hovering in the Chamber entrance. John urged Ginny forward; they stepped over the motionless coils of the dead basilisk, through the echoing gloom, and back into the tunnel. John heard the stone doors close behind them with a soft hiss.

After a few minutes’ progress up the dark tunnel, a distant sound of slowly shifting rock reached John’s ears.

“Ron!” John yelled, speeding up as much as his broken leg let him. “Ginny’s okay! I’ve got her!”

He heard Ron give a strangled cheer, and they turned the next bend to see his eager face staring through the sizable gap he had managed to make in the rock fall.

“Ginny!” Ron thrust an arm through the gap in the rock to pull her through first. “You’re alive! I don’t believe it! What happened? How - what - where did that bird come from?”

Fawkes had swooped through the gap after Ginny.

“He’s Dumbledore’s,” said John, squeezing through himself, “apparently.”

“How come you’ve got a sword?” said Ron, gaping at the glittering weapon in Harry’s hand, “and what happened to your clothes?”

“I’ll explain when we get out of here,” said John with a sideways glance at Ginny, who was crying harder than ever.

“But-”

“Later,” John said shortly. He didn’t think it was a good idea to tell Ron yet who’d been opening the Chamber, not in front of Ginny, anyway. “Where’s Professor Fraud?”

“Back there,” said Ron, still looking puzzled but jerking his head up the tunnel toward the pipe. “He’s in a bad way. Come and see.”

Led by Fawkes, whose wide scarlet wings emitted a soft golden glow in the darkness, they walked all the way back to the mouth of the pipe. Gilderoy Lockhart was sitting there, humming placidly to himself.

“His memory’s gone,” said Ron. “The Memory Charm backfired. Hit him instead of us. Hasn’t got a clue who he is, or where he is, or who we are. I told him to come and wait here. He’s a danger to himself.”

“You know what they say,” John snorted, “Karma’s a bitch.”

Ron also snorted at that.

Lockhart peered good-naturedly up at them all.

“Hello,” he said. “Odd sort of place, this, isn’t it? Do you live here?”

“No,” said Ron, raising his eyebrows at John.

John bent down and looked up the long, dark pipe.

“If I hadn’t reverted back,” John muttered to himself, “I could probably fly us out of here.”

“Have you thought how we’re going to get back up this?” he said to Ron.

Ron shook his head, but Fawkes the phoenix had swooped past John and was now fluttering in front of him, his beady eyes bright in the dark. He was waving his long golden tail feathers. John looked uncertainly at him.

“He looks like he wants you to grab hold…” said Ron, looking perplexed. “But you’re much too heavy for a bird to pull up there-”

“Fawkes,” said John, “isn’t an ordinary bird.” He turned quickly to the others. “We’ve got to hold on to each other. Ginny, grab Ron’s hand. Professor Fraud-”

“He means you,” said Ron sharply to Lockhart.

“You hold Ginny’s other hand —”

John tucked the sword into what remained of his belt, Ron wrapped his hands around John’s neck due to how john’s clothing had fared the fight, and John reached out and took hold of Fawkes’s strangely hot tail feathers

An extraordinary lightness seemed to spread through his whole body and the next second, in a rush of wings, they were flying upward through the pipe. John could hear Lockhart dangling below him, saying, “Amazing! Amazing! This is just like magic!” The chill air was whipping through John’s hair, and before he’d stopped enjoying the ride, it was over - all four of them were hitting the wet floor of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, and as Lockhart straightened his hat, the sink that hid the pipe was sliding back into place.

“Oh my god!” exclaimed Prue when she saw John’s condition, “John!”

Both Prue and Piper hurried to John while Harry hurried to Ron and Ginny.

“What happened?” they all asked at once.

“Maybe later,” John said, “I think I’m going to lie down.”

With that, he slowly sat down on the ground and laid on the floor.

“That’s better,” John sighed, “Finally my leg has stopped hurting as much.”

“A broken leg?” Prue guessed.

“More than likely,” John said.

Once John’s leg had been repaired by Prue, they all left the bathroom. They decided to take it slow though, because John was still recovering from the fight against the Basilisk and Ginny was still recovering from nearly being drained of her life-force.

“Where now?” said Ron, with an anxious look at Ginny. Harry pointed.

Fawkes was leading the way, glowing gold along the corridor. They strode after him, and moments later, found themselves outside Professor McGonagall’s office.

Harry knocked and pushed the door open.


	16. Dobby's Reward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gains a new wand. John reveals most of what he's done concerning the Chamber.

Chapter 16: Dobby’s Reward

For a moment there was silence as John, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Prue, Phoebe, Piper, and Lockhart stood in the doorway, covered in muck and slime and, in John’s case, blood. Then there was a scream.

“Ginny!”

It was Mrs. Weasley, who had been sitting crying in front of the fire. She leapt to her feet, closely followed by Mr. Weasley, and both of them flung themselves on their daughter.

John however, was looking past them. Professor Dumbledore was standing by the mantelpiece, beaming, next to Professor McGonagall, who was taking great, steadying gasps, clutching her chest. Fawkes went whooshing past John’s ear and settled on Dumbledore’s shoulder, just as John found himself, Harry, and Ron being swept into Mrs. Weasley’s tight embrace.

“You saved her! You saved her! How did you do it?”

“I think we’d all like to know that,” said Professor McGonagall weakly.

Mrs. Weasley let go of John, who hesitated for a moment, then walked over to the desk and laid upon it the Sorting Hat, the ruby-encrusted sword, and what remained of Riddle’s diary.

“That can’t be all,” Ron said to John, “What about ‘it’?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” John lied.

“It’s okay, John,” said Dumbledore, “You can tell us everything.”

John saw the sincerity in Dumbledore’s eyes and then saw that everyone was looking at him.

Reluctantly, he started telling them everything. For nearly a quarter of an hour he spoke into the rapt silence: He told them about he and Harry hearing the disembodied voice, how Hermione had finally realized that he was hearing a basilisk in the pipes; how he had followed the spiders into the forest, that Aragog had told them where the last victim of the basilisk had died; how he had guessed that Moaning Myrtle had been the victim, and that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets might be in her bathroom…

John had elected to leave out the part of the prophecy told to him by Aragog though, and Dumbledore noticed that.

“Very well,” Professor McGonagall prompted him as he paused, “so you found out where the entrance was - breaking a hundred school rules into pieces along the way, I might add - but how on earth did you all get out of there alive, Constantine?”

So John, his voice now growing hoarse from all this talking, told them about Fawkes’s timely arrival and about the a hand throwing the sword to him from the pond in the cave, and the Halliwell sisters role. But then he faltered. He had so far avoided mentioning Riddle’s diary - or Ginny. She was standing with her head against Mrs. Weasley’s shoulder, and tears were still coursing silently down her cheeks. What if they expelled her? John thought with genuine worry. Riddle’s diary didn’t work anymore… How could they prove it had been he who’d made her do it all?

Instinctively, John looked at Dumbledore, who smiled faintly, the firelight glancing off his half-moon spectacles.

“What interests me most,” said Dumbledore gently, “is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of Albania.”

“Not the fact that John is apparently the Heir of Gryffindor?” McGonagall asked.

“I had suspected it for some time,” Dumbledore admitted, “but I figured it was a secret not for me to share.”

Relief - warm, sweeping, glorious relief - swept over John. “W-what’s that?” said Mr. Weasley in a stunned voice. “You-Know-Who? En-enchant Ginny? But Ginny’s not… Ginny hasn’t been… has she?”

“It was this diary,” said John quickly, picking it up and showing it to Dumbledore. “Riddle wrote it when he was sixteen…”

Dumbledore took the diary from John and peered keenly down his long, crooked nose at its burnt and soggy pages.

“Brilliant,” he said softly. “Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen.” He turned around to the Weasleys, who were looking utterly bewildered.

“Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving the school… traveled far and wide… sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here.”

“But, Ginny,” said Mrs. Weasley. “What’s our Ginny got to do with - with - him?”

“His d-diary” Ginny sobbed. “I’ve b-been writing in it, and he’s been w-writing back all year-”

“Ginny!” said Mr. Weasley, flabbergasted. “Haven’t I taught you anything. What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain? Why didn’t you show the diary to me, or your mother? A suspicious object like that, it was clearly full of Dark Magic!”

“She didn’t know!” John shouted angrily, “Cut her some slack! I even tested it for dark magic, and all of my tests indicated there was none! For all I knew it was enchanted to record history!”

“Well,” Arthur asked slowly and much kinder, “Can you tell us where you got it, Ginny?”

“I found it inside one of the books Mum got me,” Ginny sobbed, “I th-thought someone had just left it in there and forgotten about it-”

“Miss Weasley should go up to the hospital wing right away,” Dumbledore interrupted in a firm voice. “This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There will be no punishment. Older and wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort.”

He strode over to the door and opened it.

“Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate,” Dumbledore continued, “I always find that cheers me up,” he added, twinkling kindly down at her. “You will find that Madam Pomfrey is still awake. She’s just giving out Mandrake juice - I daresay the basilisk’s victims will be waking up any moment.”

“So Hermione’s okay!” said Ron brightly.

“There has been no lasting harm done, Ginny,” said Dumbledore.

Mrs. Weasley led Ginny out, and Mr. Weasley followed, still looking deeply shaken.

“You know, Minerva,” Professor Dumbledore said thoughtfully to Professor McGonagall, “I think all this merits a good feast. Might I ask you to go and alert the kitchens?”

“Right,” said Professor McGonagall crisply, also moving to the door. “I’ll leave you to deal with Potter, Weasley, Constantine, and the Halliwells shall I?”

“Certainly,” said Dumbledore.

She left, and the group gazed uncertainly at Dumbledore. What exactly had Professor McGonagall meant, deal with them? Surely - surely - they weren’t about to be punished?

“You will receive Special Awards for Services to the School and - let me see - yes, I think two hundred points apiece for Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff respectively,” Dumbledore smiled at them.

Ron went as brightly pink as Lockhart’s valentine flowers and dropped his jaw.

“But one of us seems to be keeping mightily quiet about his part in this dangerous adventure,” Dumbledore added. “Why so modest, Gilderoy?”

John gave a start. He had completely forgotten about Lockhart. He turned and saw that Lockhart was standing in a corner of the room, still wearing his vague smile. When Dumbledore addressed him, Lockhart looked over his shoulder to see who he was talking to.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Ron said quickly, “there was an accident down in the Chamber of Secrets. Professor Lockhart-”

“Am I a professor?” said Lockhart in mild surprise. “Goodness. I expect I was hopeless, was I?”

“He tried to do a Memory Charm and the wand backfired,” Ron explained quietly to Dumbledore.

“Dear me,” said Dumbledore, shaking his head, his long silver mustache quivering. “Impaled upon your own sword, Gilderoy!”

“Sword?” said Lockhart dimly. “Haven’t got a sword. That boy has, though.” He pointed at John. “He’ll lend you one.”

“Would you mind taking Professor Lockhart up to the infirmary, too?” Dumbledore said to Ron.

“I’d like a few more words with Harry and John…”

Lockhart ambled out. Ron and the Halliwells cast a curious look back at Dumbledore, John, and Harry as he closed the door.

Dumbledore crossed to one of the chairs by the fire.

“Sit down, you two,” he said, and both Harry and John sat, feeling unaccountably nervous.

“First of all, John, I want to thank you,” said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling again. “You must have shown me real loyalty down in the Chamber. Nothing but that could have called Fawkes to you.”

“Does he or she have a sense of the future, or something?” John asked curious, “Fawkes appeared just in time to give me his healing tears.”

“No,” Dumbledore said, “but he does have a great sense of those in need. I once had a half-brother. For most of his life he was called Credence, and he was an obscurial till an old friend intervened. Fawkes was there for Credence when I wasn’t, but should’ve been.”

“Credence?!” Harry exclaimed.

“You act as if you’ve met him,” Dumbledore said confused, “but that’s impossible. He died at a young age.”

“I had a dream of him,” Harry explained, “back after the rogue bludger incident and I had to sleep the night in the Hospital wing.”

“Interesting,” Dumbledore said quietly.

“And so you met Tom Riddle,” said Dumbledore to change the subject. “I imagine he was most interested in you…”

“It was actually Potter he was interested in meeting,” John said, “still wanted me dead though.”

“Professor,” Harry said after a moment. “The Sorting Hat told me I’d - I’d have done well in Slytherin. Everyone thought I was Slytherin’s heir for a while… because I can speak Parseltongue…”

“You can speak Parseltongue, Harry,” said Dumbledore calmly, “because Lord Voldemort - who is the last remaining ancestor of Salazar Slytherin - can speak Parseltongue. Unless I’m much mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you the night he gave you that scar. Not something he intended to do, I’m sure…”

“What about him though?” Harry asked with a gesture towards John.

“Basilisks are a sort of subspecies of dragons,” Dumbledore explained, “or more accurately, they’re a subspecies of Wyverns. Wyverns happen to be a subspecies of dragons.”

“So,” John said slowly, “since I could turn into a humanoid dragon-man I can speak their language?”

“Not really sure,” Dumbledore said, “after all, for the most part. The theory that Godric Gryffindor could transform into a dragon hadn’t been proven till you.”

“Voldemort put a bit of himself in me?” Harry blurted. He had been silent because he was doing his best to understand Dumbledore. Unfortunately, he stayed confused.

“It certainly seems so.”

“So I should be in Slytherin,” Harry said, looking desperately into Dumbledore’s face. “The Sorting Hat could see Slytherin’s power in me, and it-”

“Of course not, you dunce,” John said rolling his eyes, “I’m apparently the Heir of Gryffindor and yet I fit better in either Slytherin or Ravenclaw. It sees your personality traits. You are not a good fit for Slytherin. You’re just too good, and you desire to do good. Most importantly, you didn’t want to be in Slytherin. You didn’t want to go bad.”

“Exactly,” said Dumbledore calmly. “Listen to me, Harry. You happen to have many qualities Salazar Slytherin prized in his hand-picked students. His own very rare gift, Parseltongue - resourcefulness - determination - a certain disregard for rules,” he added, his mustache quivering again. “Yet the Sorting Hat placed you in Gryffindor. You know why that was. Think.”

“It only put me in Gryffindor,” said Harry in a defeated voice, “because I asked not to go in Slytherin…”

“There you go,” said Dumbledore, beaming once more. “Which makes you very different from Tom Riddle. It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.” Harry sat motionless in his chair, stunned. “If you want proof, Harry, that you belong in Gryffindor, I suggest you think on your past successes and your dislike for Malfoy. He’s the poster boy for Slytherin.”

For a minute, neither of them spoke. Then Dumbledore pulled open one of the drawers in Professor McGonagall’s desk and took out a quill and a bottle of ink.

“What you need, Harry, is some food and sleep. I suggest you go down to the feast, while I write to Azkaban - we need our gamekeeper back. And I must draft an advertisement for the Daily Prophet, too,” he added Thoughtfully. “We’ll be needing a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher… Dear me, we do seem to run through them, don’t we?”

Harry and John got up, but before they could move Dumbledore spoke.

“John,” Dumbledore said, “I’d like to speak with you a moment more, if you don’t mind.”

With a shrug, John sat back down while Harry crossed to the door. He had just reached for the handle, however, when the door burst open so violently that it bounced back off the wall.

Lucius Malfoy stood there, fury in his face. And cowering behind his legs, heavily wrapped in bandages, was Dobby.

“Good evening, Lucius,” said Dumbledore pleasantly.

Mr. Malfoy almost knocked Harry over as he swept into the room. Dobby went scurrying in after him, crouching at the hem of his cloak, a look of abject terror on his face.

The elf was carrying a stained rag with which he was attempting to finish cleaning Mr. Malfoy’s shoes. Apparently Mr. Malfoy had set out in a great hurry, for not only were his shoes half-polished, but his usually sleek hair was disheveled. Ignoring the elf bobbing apologetically around his ankles, he fixed his cold eyes upon Dumbledore.

“So!” he said “You’ve come back. The governors suspended you, but you still saw fit to return to Hogwarts.”

“Well, you see, Lucius,” said Dumbledore, smiling serenely, “the other eleven governors contacted me today. It was something like being caught in a hailstorm of owls, to tell the truth. They’d heard that Arthur Weasleys daughter had been killed and wanted me back here at once. They seemed to think I was the best man for the job after all. Very strange tales they told me, too… Several of them seemed to think that you had threatened to curse their families if they didn’t agree to suspend me in the first place.”

Mr. Malfoy went even paler than usual, but his eyes were still slits of fury.

“So - have you stopped the attacks yet?” he sneered. “Have you caught the culprit?”

“We have,” said Dumbledore, with a smile.

“Well?” said Mr. Malfoy sharply. “Who is it?”

“The same person as last time, Lucius,” said Dumbledore. “But this time, Lord Voldemort was acting through somebody else. By means of this diary.”

He held up the small black book with the large hole through the center, watching Mr. Malfoy closely. Harry, however, was watching Dobby.

The elf was doing something very odd. His great eyes fixed meaningfully on Harry, he kept pointing at the diary, then at Mr. Malfoy, and then hitting himself hard on the head with his fist. John also saw that and forced himself from grabbing the sword of Gryffindor and beheading Lucius on the spot. Unlike Harry, he understood immediately what Dobby was trying to tell them.

“I see...” said Mr. Malfoy slowly to Dumbledore.

“A clever plan,” said Dumbledore in a level voice, still staring Mr. Malfoy straight in the eye. “Because if Harry here -” Mr. Malfoy shot Harry a swift, sharp look “and his friend Ron hadn’t discovered this book, why - Ginny Weasley might have taken all the blame. No one would ever have been able to prove she hadn’t acted of her own free will…”

Mr. Malfoy said nothing. His face was suddenly masklike.

“And imagine,” Dumbledore went on, “what might have happened then… The Weasleys are one of our most prominent pure-blood families. Imagine the effect on Arthur Weasley and his Muggle Protection Act, if his own daughter was discovered attacking and - killing Muggle-borns… Very fortunate the diary was discovered, and Riddle’s memories wiped from it. Who knows what the consequences might have been otherwise…”

Mr. Malfoy forced himself to speak.

“Very fortunate,” he said stiffly.

And still, behind his back, Dobby was pointing, first to the diary, then to Lucius Malfoy, then punching himself in the head.

And Harry suddenly understood. He nodded at Dobby, and Dobby backed into a corner, now twisting his ears in punishment.

“Don’t you want to know how Ginny got hold of that diary, Mr. Malfoy?” said Harry.

Lucius Malfoy rounded on him.

“How should I know how the stupid little girl got hold of it?” he said.

“Because you gave it to her,” said Harry. “In Flourish and Blotts. You picked up her old Transfiguration book and slipped the diary inside it, didn’t you?”

He saw Mr. Malfoy’s white hands clench and unclench.

“Prove it,” he hissed.

“Oh, no one will be able to do that,” said Dumbledore, smiling at Harry. “Not now that Riddle has vanished from the book. On the other hand, I would advise you, Lucius, not to go giving out any more of Lord Voldemort’s old school things. If any more of them find their way into innocent hands, I think Arthur Weasley, for one, will make sure they are traced back to you…”

Lucius Malfoy stood for a moment, and Harry distinctly saw his right hand twitch as though he was longing to reach for his wand. Instead, he turned to his house-elf. “We’re going, Dobby!”

He wrenched open the door and as the elf came hurrying up to him, he kicked him right through it. They could hear Dobby squealing with pain all the way along the corridor. Harry stood for a moment, thinking hard. Then it came to him-

“Professor Dumbledore,” he said hurriedly. “Can I give that diary back to Mr. Malfoy, please?”

“Certainly, Harry,” said Dumbledore calmly. “But hurry. The feast, remember…”

Harry grabbed the diary and dashed out of the office. He could hear Dobby’s squeals of pain receding around the corner. Quickly, wondering if this plan could possibly work, Harry took off one of his shoes, pulled off his slimy, filthy sock, and stuffed the diary into it. Then he ran down the dark corridor.

John immediately stood up and headed for the door.

“John,” Dumbledore asked, “You forgetting something?”

“Come again?” John asked.

“You are the Heir of Gryffindor,” Dumbledore explained, “and so, the sword is your birthright.”

“I don’t believe I’m worthy of that,” John said as he eyed the blade.

“I asked you once why a wizard would need a sword,” Dumbledore said, “can you think of any reason?”

“I…” John trailed off his mind unable to think of one.

“Pick up the sword,” Dumbledore said.

“Last time I did that,” John said as he hesitantly walked towards the sword, “I changed into a dragon-man.”

“I believe that you’ll be able to do that at will from now on,” Dumbledore said, “pick it up.”

John raised his hand towards the sword, but hesitated. However, at a glance at Dumbledore he grabbed the sword. Nothing happened.

“Okay,” John said a little annoyed, “I picked it up. What was supposed to happen? Me look like a sword wielding murderer?”

“Hmm,” Dumbledore frowned.

Suddenly, the sword glowed and a shrunk. John widened his eyes as, when the glow ceased, it had transformed into a fancy wand. A wand that looked like it belonged to a nobleman.

“Thought so,” Dumbledore said.

“I don’t… how… but,” John said utterly baffled.

“A wizard doesn’t need a sword,” Dumbledore calmly explained, “Rather, their wands are their swords. In this case, literally.”

“I thought the sword was given to King Arthur from a lake?” John asked with a raised eyebrow.

“It was,” Dumbledore nodded, “but that doesn’t mean it’s not a sword and a wand.”

“I don’t understand,” John said still confused.

“Neither do I,” Dumbledore admitted, “then again, I don’t know where the concept for a gun-sword came from. Yet, those still exist.”

John blinked twice at dumbledore.

“I go out,” Dumbledore said, “I don’t stay in the wizarding world only. Most of the time, yes, but not all of the time. A pupil of mine had a muggle friend that was accidentally introduced into the wizarding world.”

“What was his name?” John asked.

“Newt Scamander,” dumbledore replied, “and I admired him a lot. He always acted on what he believed to be right, which it usually was.”

“Right,” John said as he pocketed his new wand, “Well, I’m going to make my uncle pay for all he’s done.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, John,” Dumbledore called as John headed towards the door.

**With Harry…**

He caught up with them at the top of the stairs.

“Mr. Malfoy,” he gasped, skidding to a halt, “I’ve got something for you-”

And he forced the smelly sock into Lucius Malfoy’s hand.

“What the-?”

Mr. Malfoy ripped the sock off the diary, threw it aside, then looked furiously from the ruined book to Harry. “You’ll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these days, Harry Potter,” he said softly. “They were meddlesome fools, too.”

He turned to go.

“Come, Dobby. I said, come.”

But Dobby didn’t move. He was holding up Harry’s disgusting, slimy sock, and looking at it as though it were a priceless treasure.

“Master has given a sock,” said the elf in wonderment. “Master gave it to Dobby.”

“What’s that?” spat Mr. Malfoy. “What did you say?”

“Got a sock,” said Dobby in disbelief. “Master threw it, and Dobby caught it, and Dobby - Dobby is free.”

Lucius Malfoy stood frozen, staring at the elf then he lunged at Harry.

“You’ve lost me my servant, boy!”

But Dobby shouted, “You shall not harm Harry Potter!”

Suddenly, he was stuck by a golden blast of energy. The blast sent him flying down the hallway. Harry and Dobby turned to see John standing there with a fancy wand in his hand.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” John said with genuine glee.

“What did you just do?” Harry asked amazed, “What kind of spell was that?”

“I dunno,” John shrugged, “I just flicked my new wand when I saw him about to attack you.”

Any chance for more conversation was stopped as they saw Lucius get back up and pull his wand out of his snake headed cane.

“Avada-” began Lucius but with a snap of Dobby’s fingers his wand was knocked out of his hand.

“You shall go now,” he said fiercely, pointing down at Mr. Malfoy. “You shall not touch Harry Potter. You shall go now.”

Lucius Malfoy had no choice. With a last, incensed stare at the pair of them, he swung his cloak around him before he picked up his wand and hurried out of sight.

“Harry Potter freed Dobby!” said the elf shrilly, gazing up at Harry, moonlight from the nearest window reflected in his orb-like eyes. “Harry Potter set Dobby free!”

“Least I could do, Dobby,” said Harry, grinning. “Just promise never to try and save my life again.”

The elf’s ugly brown face split suddenly into a wide, toothy smile.

“I’ve just got one question, Dobby,” said Harry as Dobby pulled on Harry’s sock with shaking hands. “You told me all this had nothing to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, remember? Well-”

“It was a clue, sir,” said Dobby, his eyes widening, as though this was obvious. “Was giving you a clue. The Dark Lord, before he changed his name, could be freely named, you see?”

“Makes sense to me,” John shrugged as he flipped his new wand in the air.

“Right,” said Harry weakly. “Well, I’d better go. There’s a feast, and my friend Hermione should be awake by now…”

Dobby threw his arms around Harry’s middle and hugged him.

“Harry Potter is greater by far than Dobby knew!” he sobbed. “Farewell, Harry Potter!”

“Farewell, John constantine,” Dobby added, “John constantine always treated Dobby like an equal as John Constantine was rude to everyone. Dobby can see that John Constantine has changed for the better. Dobby likes that.”

And with a final loud crack, Dobby disappeared.

Harry and John had been to several Hogwarts feasts, but never one quite like this. Everybody was in their pajamas, and the celebration lasted all night. Harry didn’t know whether the best bit was Hermione running toward him, screaming “You solved it! You solved it!” or Justin hurrying over from the Hufflepuff table to wring his hand and apologize endlessly for suspecting him, or Hagrid turning up at half past three, cuffing Harry and Ron so hard on the shoulders that they were knocked into their plates of trifle, or his and Ron’s four hundred points for Gryffindor securing the House Cup for the first time in their second year at school, or Professor McGonagall standing up to tell them all that the exams had been canceled as a school treat (“Oh, no!” said Hermione), or Dumbledore announcing that, unfortunately, Professor Lockhart would be unable to return next year, owing to the fact that he needed to go away and get his memory back. Quite a few of the teachers joined in the cheering that greeted this news.

“Shame,” said Ron, helping himself to a jam doughnut. “He was starting to grow on me.”

“That makes one of us,” John snorted as he had elected to sit at the Gryffindor table. He had changed into his Hogwarts robes, so he wouldn’t have to bother hearing questions about what happened to his preferred clothes.

The rest of the final term passed in a haze of blazing sunshine. Hogwarts was back to normal with only a few, small differences - Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were canceled (“but we’ve had plenty of practice at that anyway,” Ron told a disgruntled Hermione) and Lucius Malfoy had been sacked as a school governor. Draco was no longer strutting around the school as though he owned the place. On the contrary, he looked resentful and sulky. On the other hand, Ginny Weasley was perfectly happy again.

Too soon, it was time for the journey home on the Hogwarts Express. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny got a compartment to themselves. They made the most of the last few hours in which they were allowed to do magic before the holidays. They played Exploding Snap, set off the very last of Fred and George’s Filibuster fireworks, and practiced disarming each other by magic. Harry was getting very good at it.

They were almost at King’s Cross when Harry remembered something.

“Ginny - what did you see Percy doing, that he didn’t want you to tell anyone?”

“Oh, that,” said Ginny, giggling. “Well - Percy’s got a girlfriend.”

Fred dropped a stack of books on George’s head.

“What?”

“It’s that Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater,” said Ginny. “That’s who he was writing to all last summer. He’s been meeting her all over the school in secret. I walked in on them kissing in an empty classroom one day. You won’t tease him, will you?” she added anxiously.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Fred, who was looking like his birthday had come early.

“Definitely not,” said George, sniggering.

The Hogwarts Express slowed and finally stopped.

Harry pulled out his quill and a bit of parchment and turned to Ron and Hermione.

“This is called a telephone number,” he told Ron, scribbling it twice, tearing the parchment in two, and handing it to them. “I told your dad how to use a telephone last summer - he’ll know. Call me at the Dursleys’, okay? I can’t stand another two months with only Dudley to talk to…”

Harry attempted to give one to John as well, but John declined. John was now in his usual clothes minus his raincoat. Harry guessed that even if John had accepted the number, he wouldn’t have called anyway.

“Your aunt and uncle will be proud, though, won’t they?” said Hermione as they got off the train and joined the crowd thronging toward the enchanted barrier. “When they hear what you did this year?”

“Right,” John snorted, “They hate magic, so what makes you think they’ll be proud of Potter?”

“John was the hero this year,” Harry said to the other three. Ron was walking with them. “I didn’t do much at all.”

“You going to stay with us again, John?” Ron asked with a hopeful tone.

“You know what?” John said, “Why not. It was interesting last summer. I wonder if it’ll be as interesting this summer or not. Besides, I don’t have anywhere else to stay… yet. Not exactly looking forward to seeing my dad or living on the streets again.”

“Plus,” John said as he patted his pocket, “I have got to familiarize myself with my new wand.”

“How is a wand both a sword and a wand?” Ron asked, “i still don’t get it.”

“It’s magic,” John shrugged, “and magic isn’t meant to be understood. At least, not all of it.”

And together they walked back through the gateway to the Muggle world.


End file.
